


Remind Me What Kindness Is

by Bedalk05



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Flower Shop Owner Geralt, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Happy Ending, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Tattooist Jaskier, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: Jaskier was baffled. This giant figure was a man of legend, inspiring words of terror and admiration both. And yet facing him Jaskier only saw a lost and lonely man who acted more like an injured wolf than a butcher.AKA the modern AU no one asked for where Geralt is a vigilante and owns a flower shop, Jaskier is a tattooist and singer, and they both have lots and lots of feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 182
Kudos: 599
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. I Need a Hero

Okay, listen, it’s not Jaskier’s fault. Sure, some people may say walking alone through a darkened alley in the middle of the night while singing isn’t the most advisable thing in the world but what was a man supposed to do? He just came off of a great set at a derelict yet pleasant dive bar and a brooding patron in the back gave him _ideas_ for a new song. But sure, blame the victim who is about to be eaten by a sadistic looking kikimore because he was _slightly_ distracted. 

As Jaskier cowered in the gritty alleyway, he had enough time to regret not sauntering up to that sexy guy at the bar before closing his eyes and accepting his fate. After a prolonged moment in which Jaskier found none of his limbs ripped out of his body, he heard a sickening squelch and a thump. 

Tentatively, Jaskier peeked open his eyes and let his jaw drop. Looming before the now very dead monster stood the most gorgeous specimen Jaskier had ever laid eyes on. Black leather clung to every part of the man, highlighting his muscular and athletic physique. Though a cloak covered his head and shadowed his face, Jaskier could see glinting golden eyes and locks of silver hair shining in the moonlight. 

The stranger gripped a longsword while another lay strapped to his back and Jaskier was positive he would find other weapons hidden upon his person if given the chance. Heat shot through him as Jaskier allowed himself a moment to imagine stripping the man of his darkened layers to see what was bared beneath. Mentally shaking his head, Jaskier moved his gaze back to the man’s face and gulped as their eyes met. 

The stranger’s golden eyes pierced Jaskier’s soul and held a darkness that gave Jaskier the irrational and sudden urge to learn everything he could about him. Okay, Jaskier knew that he had a tendency to fall fast and hard all the time but this was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be feeling so drawn to a guy he hadn’t even spoken to. 

Standing up on wobbly legs Jaskier stumbled over to the man. “Thank you for swooping in like that!” He laughed. “I had just accepted my fate as monster chow.” When all the stranger did was grunt and began walking away from Jaskier, the singer hurried to catch up. “Can’t I know the name of my savior?” Jaskier pleaded, bounding around until he could face the man. 

Standing toe to toe, Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. Raising a hand, Jaskier began tallying what he saw. “Wait a minute,” he muttered. “Long silver hair, angry golden eyes, two very scary looking swords...I know who you are,” he breathed, impulsively placing his hand on the man’s chest. Abruptly, the other man shoved Jaskier aside and began striding away. Running to catch up Jaskier called out, “You’re the Witcher! The Butcher!” 

Jaskier froze like a hunted animal as the Witcher whirled around and sent him the coldest glare he had ever received. Though such a look would make a smarter man run, Jaskier couldn’t help but study his expression closer. Amidst the terrifying fury were splinters of pain across the man’s face, giving Jaskier pause. 

While the stories of the Butcher of Blaviken had circled throughout the Continent, Jaskier couldn’t help but be skeptical of them. The Witcher was one of many vigilantes scattered around the cities protecting civilians from the monsters that prowled the night. So why would a vigilante suddenly turn on the very people he had been protecting for so long? 

With a shaky breath, Jaskier took a brave step forward, then another. “You know my friend, you seem to have a bit of an image problem,” Jaskier began lightly, mentally applauding himself for having only a slight tremble in his voice. Spreading his arms widely he cracked a confident smile. “Just so happens I specialize in storytelling. Perhaps we can help each other.” 

At this point the two men stood a handbreadth apart once again. In his many rapid movements the Witcher had allowed his hood to fall, baring his face fully. Now, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown of confusion. After a prolonged silence in which the two men continued to study each other, the Witcher grunted, “Why.” It was hardly a question; more like a scoff.

Considering Jaskier hardly knew what was possessing him to have this conversation in the first place, he could only shrug before gesturing to the guitar hanging from his back. “I need a muse. You need a new reputation. It’s a perfect match.” 

Jaskier’s breath cut out as the Witcher stepped into his space and wrapped a gloved hand around his neck. Face twisted in a fearsome mask he snarled, “I could snap your neck without breaking a sweat. I’m a fucking monster and you stand before me wanting to _fix my image?!_

Swallowing down his terror and distantly amazed by his boldness Jaskier met the other man’s gaze steadily. “Every story has two sides,” he said simply. “Tell me yours and then I’ll decide if you’re a monster or not.” The grip around his neck loosened suddenly as the Witcher stared at him, mouth dropped slightly in shock. 

Pulling away from Jaskier as though he was burned he stated weakly, “Why don’t you fear me?” 

How could Jaskier explain the fissures of pain he could trace through the Witcher’s face and voice? The helpless and lost expression now gracing his scarred expression? How could Jaskier describe how he was enchanted by the golden eyes that held stories Jaskier yearned to learn? Anything he said on the matter would be too loaded to name. Finally Jaskier shrugged and lamely offered, “Lack of self-preservation?” 

Huffing out what almost sounded like a laugh, the Witcher gave a brief nod. “Fine,” he said gruffly. 

Breaking into a wide grin Jaskier exclaimed, “Great! I’m Jaskier by the way.” Holding out his hand Jaskier stood there bemused as the Witcher stared at his hand as though it were a foreign object. Gently, Jaskier picked up the Witcher’s lax arm and gave his hand a firm shake. The Witcher simply stood there like a puppet, allowing Jaskier to move him. 

Jaskier was baffled. This giant figure was a man of legend, inspiring words of terror and admiration both. And yet facing him Jaskier only saw a lost and lonely man who acted more like an injured wolf than a butcher. He itched to learn this man's story; he was certain it was one for the ages. Clapping his hands and rubbing them together eagerly, Jaskier bounced lightly on his toes. 

“Wonderful! Now, I can’t keep calling you The Witcher in my head, though that is a great vigilante name by the way. What shall I call you?” 

Jaskier waited patiently as the man before him struggled silently with himself. Finally, he grunted, “Geralt,” causing Jaskier to smile brightly. 

“Nice to meet you Geralt! So, where are we off to now?” Jaskier could hardly contain his excitement at the prospect of watching the vigilante in action. He had never been so close to a monster before today and had only ever seen images of the various vigilantes in the news. But here was his chance to get a front row seat to the world of fighting crime and monsters. The future ballads he could get out of this experience were utterly tantalizing. 

Pushing the singer gently yet firmly back Geralt replied, “I’m going to dispose of this body and hunt for more. You’re going home and avoiding darkened alleys.” 

Jaskier’s stomach plummeted and he frowned in disappointment. Stupid Witcher and his stupid instinct to protect him. Refusing to give up this opportunity Jaskier fluttered his lashes and looked up at Geralt, the picture of innocence. “But I’ve already been attacked once tonight. Who will protect me from further attacks as I walk alone and defenseless?” 

The two men stared at each other, stuck in a standoff, until Jaskier watched as Geralt’s resolve crumbled. He cheered inwardly and cracked a self-satisfied smirk. No gruff and buff Witcher was a match for Jaskier at his most stubborn. Releasing a heavy sigh Geralt gritted out, “Fine. Tell me where you live and if we run into anything, stay out of my way.” 

Giving a jaunty salute and lopsided grin, Jaskier began making his way down the entrance of the alley, ignoring the muttered, “I’m gonna regret this aren’t I?” in his wake. He could tell this would be the start to his greatest song yet.


	2. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As the florist leaned into Jaskier’s space the singer wondered for a breathless moment if he would be kissed. When they were a nose apart Geralt finally rumbled, “You’re crushing my flowers. I’m gonna charge you for that.”_
> 
> Jaskier learns where the vigilante spends his days. Suffice to say, it's not what he expected

Jaskier furrowed his brow as he stood in front of the store. At his gentle insistence (though what other people may call incessant nagging), Geralt finally caved and gave Jaskier his address so they could chat. Though he was disappointed that they didn't run into any more monsters last night, Jaskier was eager to earn another opportunity to catch Geralt in action. Now he stood in front of the “The Lioness and Dandelion” which, by all means, looked like a flower shop. Double checking his phone to see if he had the right address, Jaskier shrugged and strolled through the door before freezing midstep. 

At the counter, surrounded by flowers, stood Geralt, nearly unrecognizable. While last night unruly silver hair stuck out of a hooded cloak now it was all neatly in a bun atop the man’s head. Though he still wore an all black outfit that was as sinfully tight today as it was last night, he wore a button down instead of a loose shirt. 

Rolled up sleeves revealed tattooed arms that were what dreams were made of. Vines and words tangled up and down both arms and his fingers itched to explore the designs and see what they said and where else they led. Jaskier allowed himself a moment to fantasize about the many things he would allow those arms to do before shaking his head to clear it. 

Frowning slightly at the sight of sunglasses covering the vigilante’s beautiful eyes, Jaskier sauntered across the shop. “Of the many jobs I imagined you working at, a flower shop was quite low on the list,” Jaskier drawled, eyes sparking with amusement. When all he got was a “Hmm” in response Jaskier rolled his eyes before hopping atop the counter and spinning, ending conveniently right in Geralt’s personal space. 

Breathing in the scent of the Witcher, a mixture of earth and vanilla, Jaskier beamed up at the unamused expression of his companion. Jaskier stifled a shudder as Geralt braced his arms on either side of the singer, firmly closing him in. As the florist leaned into Jaskier’s space the singer wondered for a breathless moment if he would be kissed. When they were a nose apart Geralt finally rumbled, “You’re crushing my flowers. I’m gonna charge you for that.” 

At his words Jaskier blinked dumbly before slowly registering something sharp poking his bottom. Slipping off the counter Jaskier stared at a pile of sad, crushed roses. Rubbing his arse Jaskier whined, “Geralt how could you allow me to sit somewhere painful? I thought you were supposed to be protecting me!” 

Rolling his eyes Geralt huffed out, “I can’t be blamed if you get stabbed in the arse because you don’t watch what you sit on.” Gaping gleefully at the innuendo that slipped out of the Witcher’s mouth Jaskier looked up at Geralt coyly. 

“I must say there are other things I would rather be stabbed in the arse with,” he hummed, watching with glee at the flush that peppered Geralt’s face in response. _Was the vigilante flirting with him or was that comment unintentional?_ Jaskier wondered to himself as Geralt rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

Clearing his throat the florist finally rumbled, “5 pounds for the flowers.” Feeling some whiplash from the change in subject Jaskier decided to go with it since Geralt looked so out of his element. _When was the last time someone flirted with him?_ Jaskier mused. Releasing an exaggerated sigh, Jaskier reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, slapping the money on the counter. 

Jaskier couldn’t help but notice Geralt’s eyes as they followed the path of his arm. Grinning up at the florist Jaskier gestured at his arm and the dandelions and songbirds weaving across it. “Like the art? I designed it myself.” As Geralt turned to look into Jaskier's eyes the singer pouted as he was faced with the sunglasses still covering the other man’s face. “Will you take those off?” he asked with exasperation, pointing to the glasses. 

Jaskier watched with interest as Geralt stiffened subtly before turning away to gather up some flowers. “Not during the day,” he grunted. 

Squinting his eyes in confusion, Jaskier played those words back in his mind before widening his gaze. “They’re too recognizable,” he breathed, watching with sorrow at the stiff jerked nod he got in response. This poor man was so reviled that he couldn’t even show his eyes for fear of being noticed and attacked. 

Heart breaking, Jaskier could feel his resolve harden. By all the gods, he would change this man’s reputation if it was the last thing he did. And with that decided, he leaned across the counter, careful to avoid the flowers this time. “So I thought the best way to start changing your image is by writing a song about your heroism. Now, I have something started since you saved me but I think I need some more research in order to come up with more material,” he informed the vigilante, blinking innocently up to him. 

“You’re not coming on my hunts,” Geralt growled, shoving a flower a bit too hard into the arrangement he was currently working on. "And you're not singing about me. It's too dangerous." 

Right. Time for some dramatics. Sprawling upon the counter Jaskier whined, “Geraaalt c’mon I promise I’ll be good! Just let me tag along, you’ll hardly notice I’m there.” 

“Somehow I very much doubt it,” Geralt remarked drily, before shaking his head with a sigh. “Fine. But you listen to everything I say and I have the right to punch you if you do anything idiotic.” 

Jaskier scrutinized the vigilante’s blank expression before coming up with nothing. “Okay I can’t tell if you’re joking or not but I’m going to stay on the safe side and say you are serious,” Jaskier quipped, before straightening. 

As Geralt hummed in response Jaskier studied the man before him. He was dying to know the story of Blaviken but had a sneaking suspicion that he needed to break some walls down before Geralt would open up about that. Instead, Jaskier whipped out his notebook and began jotting down ideas for lyrics so far. What rhymed with white wolf? 

*******

Lost in his thoughts, Jaskier failed to see the curious, burning gaze fixed on him. Geralt was utterly baffled. This lanky singer barged into his life and completely upturned it. He still couldn’t process how Jaskier reacted to him last night. He should have ran away screaming and instead he offered to fix Geralt’s _image._ What kind of fool did that?

Geralt didn’t know what possessed him to give Jaskier his actual name and address. What was he thinking? He had studiously kept his vigilante identity and real life and job separate. It was fine if he was hated as the vigilante Witcher but if he became loathed as Geralt the florist he didn’t know what he would do other than crawl in a hole and remain there for eternity. 

But there was something about Jaskier...those blue guileless eyes, his warm and sincere smile, that tore down Geralt’s walls before he knew what was happening. It absolutely terrified him. It went against every instinct he possessed but Geralt needed to be near the singer like a bird needed to sing. He had spent so long protecting himself from further pain, avoiding any connections with others if he could avoid it. But now this man had waltzed into Geralt’s life and he had a sinking realization that there would be no easy way to be rid of him. And even if he could, Geralt had no idea if he would go through with it. 

Impulsively, Geralt paused the arrangements he was in the midst of creating and removed his sunglasses. There was no one in the shop but him and Jaskier; it was safe, right? At the look of elation sent his way when Jaskier noticed what he had done, Geralt felt stripped down and naked. What was happening to him? Geralt had no idea what this man was doing to him but he was longing to find out. Whether that road led to pain or comfort remained to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments and kudos are welcome. More to come soon :-)


	3. Gee, Officer-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier accompanies Geralt on his first stakeout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. Leave a review if you feel inclined!

“You’re a tattooist?” Geralt asked dumbly, raking his gaze up and down Jaskier and the floral blouse and skinny jeans he currently had on. Raising an eyebrow in disbelief he emphasized, “You?” 

Jaskier and Geralt were currently perched atop a roof, passing time while they waited for an alert to pop onto the radio tuned into the police frequency. Jaskier had been passing the time with inane chatter while Geralt presumably tuned him out, releasing an occasional “hmm” when prompted. This was the first full sentence the vigilante had said the whole night and Jaskier couldn’t be more thrilled. 

Tossing a crisp in the air and snatching it with his mouth Jaskier said mid-chew, “Appearances can be deceiving.” Giving Geralt a knowing glance he added, “You of all people should know that.” 

Grunting noncommittally, Geralt turned his gaze back to the streets below, silent and still as a hawk. Jaskier sighed. So much for a conversation opening. Leaning back on his elbows, Jaskier aimlessly kicked his legs in the air as he studied his companion. In the brief period Jaskier had known Geralt he had made several observations. 

**  
1\. Geralt was a man of few words and many “hmms”  
2\. Geralt had someone in his life named Roach but whether this was a pet, significant other, or imaginary friend remained to be seen  
3\. This guy’s self-esteem was in a deep, dark, pit below the earth but by all the gods Jaskier would help him see his self-worth if it was the last thing he did. Which reminded him:  
4\. Jaskier had tripped and fallen straight for this brooding hunk of man-pain and had already merrily accepted this fate.  
**

Turning his thoughts back to the present, Jaskier reached into his bag of provisions (it pays to be prepared) and pulled out his bag of crips. “Crisp?” He offered, brandishing the bag toward Geralt. 

The Witcher studied the bag as though it were a bomb about to explode or a baby kikimora sizing him up for a snack. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a crisp before,” Jaskier laughed after an awkward amount of time had passed. When all he received in response was a blank stare Jaskier dropped his mouth in shock. “Are you telling me you’ve never had the delicious calorie-filled goodness that is a crisp?!” 

Before the Witcher could respond or Jaskier realized what he was doing the tattooist shoved a handful of crips to Geralt’s lips until they opened. Jaskier watched Geralt’s expression closely as the Witcher chewed slowly, amused that this giant of a man just let him force-feed him. Swallowing carefully Geralt grunted, “Tastes like shit.” 

Letting out a theatrical gasp Jaskier exclaimed, “Well fine! That’s the last time I waste my food on you!” Humming and quirking his lips up ever so slightly, Geralt fiddled with the radio. Celebrating internally that he made the Witcher smile (or get as close to a smile as he may physically be able) Jaskier began humming a tune he had been working on. After a few minutes of silence from the radio and his companion, Jaskier burst out a sigh. “I’m bored,” Jaskier moaned. 

“That’s too bad. Feel free to leave so I can work in peace again,” Geralt commented with mock sincerity. 

Bumping his shoulder with the vigilante Jaskier grinned, “But how will you survive without my entertainment?” 

“Is that what you call it?” Geralt deadpanned. 

Grinning impishly, Jaskier was about to respond when a voice crackled over the radio reporting a pack of drowners by the waterway. In a flash Geralt shot up and jumped off the roof, falling into a roll and leaving Jaskier gaping in his wake. As the vigilante began speeding down the street, Jaskier yelped, gathering the duo's belongings and scrambling to climb down the roof and catch up. 

By the time Jaskier made it to the waterfront, gasping for breath, Geralt was in the midst of a battle with three drowners and Jaskier was fighting between his conflicting responses of terror and arousal at the sight. The vigilante was a pinwheel of motion, lashing out with his sword (and seriously-it was the 21st century-who still carried swords?) and retreating in bursts of speed that left Jaskier dizzy from the sight. He was untouchable; a vision of fury and grace in equal parts. 

Within no time, Geralt stood panting before the decimated bodies of the drowners. Before Jaskier could applaud the show however, sirens that were distant before sounded right by Jaskier’s ear and before he knew what was happening angry voices surrounded the vigilante and ordered him to put down his weapons. “Um, guys? You’re pointing at the wrong fella. He just did your jobs-a simple thank you would suffice.” 

As Jaskier felt the eyes of several angry armed officials turn on him, Geralt shot Jaskier an unreadable look but before he could attempt to interpret it the Witcher launched himself into the water, sword and all. While the officers began running toward the bank to try to stop the vigilante, Jaskier decided to make a graceful exit, slowly backing away from the commotion. “Well, this has been quite fun but I think I’m gonna just duck out,” he muttered to himself, freezing when an imposing woman whirled around and caught eyes with him. 

Striding with as much confidence as Jaskier had been fleeing with apprehension, she faced him silently. Her uniform was impeccable and the eyeliner she wore only highlighting her severe features. The name badge that said “Sergeant Calanthe” glinted in the moonlight. Drawing a cursory assessing gaze along his person she nodded her head towards the water. “How do you know him?” She inquired in a tone that strongly suggested to Jaskier that he tell the truth if he knew what was good for him. Gulping Jaskier played with his thumb ring, twisting it on and off with twitchy fingers. 

“Who? The guy that just flew in here like a one man army and then dove into the Thames?” he clarified with a weak smile. Crossing her arms, the officer fixed him with an irritated look.

“No, I meant the florist I pass on my way to work,” she growled. _Your growl isn’t as sexy as Geralt’s_ Jaskier thought vaguely to himself as he breathed through the panic at how close her sarcastic example was to the truth. 

“Well, he’s the Witcher, haven’t you head of him?" Jaskier asked with a useless wave of a hand. "Famous vigilante who helps keep these beautifully grimy city streets safe from the monsters that go bump in the night?” Jaskier instantly regretted his smartass comment when the officer took a threatening step further and stabbed Jaskier in the chest with a severely manicured finger. 

“If you are suspected to be assisting or collaborating with that criminal I can have you arrested,” she threatened. Brushing invisible lint off of Jaskier’s blouse she cracked a smile that reinforced Jaskier’s terror rather than assuaged it. “Do the right thing; your pretty face wouldn’t last long behind bars,” she finished sweetly before dismissing him with a toss of her hair. No longer entrapped by the fierce eyes of Sergeant Calanthe, Jaskier nodded frantically before scrambling away from the crime scene, heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. 

*******

Jaskier had been pacing in front of the flower shop for over an hour, keeping his mind from panicking by brainstorming a song. _Toss a coin to your Witcher, O valley of plenty,_ he muttered to himself. Pausing his pacing, Jaskier whipped out his songbook to start jotting down the lyrics before jumping out the rumble by his ear. 

"Could use some work." Whirling to face Geralt, now out of his Witcher outfit and into a loose button down and jeans, Jaskier burst into a grin. 

"You got away," he breathed happily, visually searching the vigilante for any signs of harm and relieved when he saw none. 

Grunting in response, Geralt unlocked the door and wordlessly led Jaskier through the shop and up to an apartment. Walking through the threshold Jaskier eagerly took in the tiny space. No photos or really any personal touches except for a single framed painting of a horse, Jaskier noted. Before he could take in anymore sights he was thrown back by a blur of fur barreling into him. Letting out an oof Jaskier's panic quickly drained into glee as he realized he wasn't being attacked but rather greeted with overflowing enthusiasm by a brown pit bull. 

"Traitor," Geralt grumbled before walking past the duo and into the dinky kitchen, pouring himself a generous drink of vodka. Letting out a breathless laugh, Jaskier settled onto the floor, digging his fingers into the dog's fur. "Aren't you a beauty," Jaskier crooned, checking the collar. Wrinkling his brow he added incredulously, "Roach?" Looking up from the enthusiastic pile of fluff he shot Geralt a disapproving look. "Geralt, how could you name this adorable thing Roach?" 

He watched with amusement as Geralt shrugged awkwardly avoiding the singer's gaze. "'Cause she couldn't be killed," he rumbled, fiddling with his glass and staring into the drink with a look of stubborn concentration. Releasing a whine Jaskier turned to look at the dog more closely, noting for the first time her tattered ear and missing back leg. 

"Oh you poor creature," he breathed, embracing the dog and burrowing his face into her fur. "How could anyone harm someone as sweet as you?" Looking back up at the vigilante with a fiery gaze Jaskier said fiercely, "I hope you made them pay." 

At his words Geralt could only stare at the singer in shock. He never imagined to hear such venom emitting from this man who was the epitome of sunshine. Meeting his gaze Geralt felt like a fly caught in a web, yet he couldn't say he minded. Oh, how he longed suddenly to know what else would cause that fire to blaze in the tattoist's eyes. Shit. _No._ Geralt told himself firmly with a shake of his head. _No falling for this singer._ No matter how much he made Geralt’s heart clench with his lack of fear and no matter how enthralling Getalt found those eyes that could switch from wide innocent orbs to hardened flints. 

Realizing he hadn't responded Geralt nodded hesitantly. "They paid," he murmured. 

The grin that split across Jaskier's face could only be described as bloodthirsty and sent a shock of heat through Geralt. "Good," he said with satisfaction. And as suddenly as his anger appeared it dissipated and in its wake was that cheerful disposition once again. "Now," he said brightly. "I only got the tail-end of that fight. Describe it for me at the beginning." 

Shaking off the whiplash at the drastic shift of moods, Geralt felt like he should feel annoyance at the singer's insistence to hear details of the battle but all he felt was warmth. Warmth at how Jaskier eagerly leaned forward, notebook in his lap and pen brandished in one hand as he mindlessly continued to pet Roach with the other, settling in like he belonged there. 

The part of himself that still had some self-preservation left panicked at how well Jaskier seemed to fit in his cold apartment, how much light he seemed to bring in with just his presence. But the majority of him couldn't be brought to care. With a carefully crafted noncommittal hum, Geralt settled into a chair and began recounting the battle. As terrifying as the thought was, Geralt realized suddenly that he could easily get used to this.


	4. What is this Feeling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has an unexpected client.

“Your 11:00 is here,” Priscilla called. Scrambling to the front of the tattoo shop, Jaskier hurriedly adjusted his rainbow tank top before greeting his newcomer. 

“Hi! Welcome to-” but Jaskier cut himself off, jaw dropping as he saw who his client was. “Geralt??” he squeaked. 

The vigilante-florist was standing at the counter, giant hands stuffed into his loose jeans. A black t-shirt did nothing to hide the mouth-watering muscles and abs hiding beneath it. 

Recovering swiftly, Jaskier shot him a strained grin before theatrically gesturing toward his workspace. “After you good sir,” he purred. Rolling his eyes, Geralt strolled toward the doorway as Jaskier studiously ignored Priscilla‘a questioning gaze burning holes into the back of his head. 

Closing the door behind him Jaskier shifted his weight back and forth, playing with his rings nervously. “So! Geralt! What brought you here?” he chattered, frowning at the sunglasses blocking his sight of those beautiful golden eyes. 

Gesturing around them Geralt said dryly, “Well I was hoping to get a tattoo. Maybe I chose the wrong artist though if you don’t know why I’m here.” 

Gaping at the vigilante Jaskier stuttered, “Wait, you’re actually here for me to work on you?” 

Finally removing his sunglasses so Jaskier could see him roll his eyes Geralt said, “What else would I be here for?” 

Fluttering his hands uselessly, Jaskier scrambled to grab his pencil and drawing pad. Averting his gaze Jaskier mutters, “I don’t know. You just don’t expect to see the bloody Witcher stroll into your tattoo shop for no other reason than to actually get a tattoo. I thought you were gonna tell me Priscilla was a succubus or something. Wouldn’t be surprised.” 

The low chuckle from his companion caused Jaskier to jerk his head up, eyeing Geralt curiously. A small smile played on the tip of the florist’s lips, golden eyes sparkling, and it was the most beautiful sight Jaskier had seen. Finally recovering his usual grace, Jaskier smirked at Geralt before settling on a stool, gesturing for the florist to do the same. 

“Well! Now that we are both clear on why you’re here, why don’t you tell me what you are hoping to get.” 

Nodding, Geralt rumbled out, “I was hoping for a wolf howling on my arm,” gesturing to the blank space on his left bicep. 

Nodding vigorously, Jaskier began rapidly sketching out the image that came to mind as Geralt spoke. After a few minutes Jaskier brandished it toward Geralt. “This is obviously a very rough draft and I took some liberties but what do you think?” 

Inspired by Roach and the marks that spoke of survival he had spotted on Geralt, Jaskier drew the wolf with a tattered ear and a scar crossing its face. Its eyes were closed and its face peaceful as it howled to a moon that had two swords crossing it. 

Biting his lip, Jaskier studied Geralt’s face, trying to decipher his unreadable expression. “I know it’s not exactly what you said-” 

“It’s perfect.” Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat at Geralt’s firm words. This was a man whose language was sarcasm and barbed insults. And here he was praising Jaskier’s drawing. It was enough to make a man swoon. 

Beaming Jaskier exclaimed, “Wonderful!” His restlessness getting the better of him as usual, Jaskier began aimlessly drawing around the wolf as he asked, “So when would you like this done? This was marked as a consultation but since you are a friend I will make an exception and do it now if you want.” 

Geralt was silent for a long moment and Jaskier finally looked up, eyebrows wrinkling with confusion. Breath caught in his throat as Jaskier realized that Geralt was studying Jaskier’s sketches with interest and (dare he say) awe. “I want that too,” Geralt finally stated, gesturing to Jaskier’s doodles of birds and dandelions and a mountain. 

Damn this man. Jaskier had been working incredibly hard to keep his crush tamed and then Geralt asks for Jaskier’s mindless doodles to be _permanently ingrained on his skin?”_ Bloody hell, Jaskier’s heart couldn’t take it. 

Staring at Geralt in disbelief Jaskier breathed, “Are you certain?” Golden eyes met blue in a piercing gaze that shot right to Jaskier’s heart. 

“Of course,” Geralt responded simply. 

“Of course,” Jaskier repeated faintly. Pulling out his sharpies Jaskier tilted his head as he studied Geralt’s bicep. “I’m going to free draw this design so we see how it looks on your skin and then I’ll make any adjustments as needed.” 

Glancing up at the florist for a nod of assent, Jaskier began drawing on the arm that had protected him and countless others from the monsters that go bump in the night. Slowly Jaskier settled into his usual headspace, draining out any distractions as he worked on Geralt’s arm. 

“I had no idea it was possible for you to be so quiet,” Geralt remarked dryly. 

“Don’t you worry my dear wolf, I will provide plenty of entertainment once I’ve fully established the design,” Jaskier assured him vaguely. 

As silence fell between them again, Jaskier refocused on his work, just to be broken out of his concentration again by the usually silent vigilante. “What did you just call me?” 

“Hmm?” Jaskier asked, tongue sticking out as he finished the design of the swords. 

Huffing out a laugh Geralt said, “Nothing little lark.” 

Several minutes passed in content silence as Jaskier finished up the design. Finally, he stepped back and studied the result. Nodding with satisfaction, Jaskier gestured to the mirror hanging off the door. “Let me know what you think and tell me any adjustments you may want to make.” 

*******

As Geralt turned to the mirror he did his best to school his expression but couldn’t stop the tiny smile that crossed his face. It was perfect. Part of him couldn’t believe he actually asked Jaskier to include his mindless sketches but he wanted the burst of light that those images spread. 

He was still in shock at how Jaskier portrayed the wolf. It was as though he looked into Geralt, cradled the burnt up husk of his soul and dusted it with light. And the swords. He had no idea Jaskier had studied his swords close enough to actually replicate them. He doesn’t think Jaskier realized the symbolism he portrayed through his drawings; he will probably never know how much these images meant to Geralt, but he would try to let his gratitude be known somehow. 

“Perfect,” he repeated, heart clenching at the blinding smile Jaskier responds with. 

Setting up his materials Jaskier said, “Wonderful! Settle down in that chair and I’ll get everything set up.” 

A moment later music started emanating from the honest to gods record player in the corner. As Geralt settled into the chair he let his eyes wander curiously around the room. Sketches of all kinds littered the walls, from mythical creatures to cartoons. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling and walls, lending a more intimate and relaxing air to the room. The incense burning by the door only served to create an even calmer atmosphere. 

Finding himself relaxing, something he never did outside the relative safety of his apartment, Geralt jolted when soft hands touched his arm. “Sorry,” Jaskier said, smiling sheepishly. “I promise I’ll warn you next time I touch you.” 

Speechless at Jaskier’s keen perception and courtesy, Geralt simply nodded and watched as Jaskier settled beside him. “I’m going to start with the wolf, alright?”

“You don’t need to talk me through it,” Geralt replied gruffly. “I’ve gotten tattoos before.” 

Smiling softly Jaskier shrugged. “It’s a habit I have; my clients appreciate when I warn them so they know where I’m moving next.” And with that, Jaskier began working, humming as he did. 

At the first touch of the needle and a hand, Geralt had to smother a shiver that threatened to shoot down his spine. The only touches Geralt got were from things trying to kill him. And the tattooists he had in the past handled him roughly. But here, Jaskier gently gripped him as he traced along his markings, fingers tracing down Geralt’s arm to wipe away stray ink. Geralt watched him, mesmerized at the fluid grace Jaskier brought to such a task. 

Ever since he met this enigmatic man, emotions he was afraid to name had been crawling through the walls surrounding his heart like vines and he didn’t know how to stop them. Making an appointment to have a tattoo done by Jaskier just proved how deep he already was. He didn’t know what caused him to set up this appointment. Burning curiosity about how this bubbly man was like as a tattooist? An incomprehensible need to spend more time with him? 

Whatever the reason, Geralt couldn’t be made to regret it. Simply being in Jaskier’s presence relaxed something in Geralt. His calming lavender scent that was absent of fear, the casual way he treated Geralt like he wasn’t a killer with too much blood on his hands, the smile that was bright as a sun...it was all too much and not nearly enough. 

Geralt wanted to nuzzle Jaskier’s neck so he could soak in that addicting scent more. He wanted to find out how to make that smile turn towards him every day. He wanted to explore every part of his body to discover where else he may have tattoos. He wanted to hold Jaskier close, protect him from this brutal world, cradle him like the precious creature he was. 

Every interaction with Jaskier drew Geralt closer and closer to him, like a starving man to food. He craved the soft touches from the tattooist, the lack of fear in those crystal blue eyes, the mindless chatter that drowned out dark memories that haunt him. But he knew he would only taint Jaskier, dim his light that was so blinding. So Geralt restrained himself with an iron grip. But now, having the tattooist touch him for such a prolonged period of time, Geralt feared his will would break.

Geralt was torn from his frenzied thoughts when, as promised, Jaskier began chattering away. It was a welcome reprieve and distraction from the tangle of emotions fighting for dominance in his chest, from the painful longing he felt for the other man. Taking a deep breath, he tried to let himself simply revel in the presence of the one light in his life. Closing his eyes, Geralt embraced the steady touches from his companion, the calming aura of the room, the sound of that beautiful voice, and the gentle music playing in the corner. 

_"It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you_

_It’s not fair 'cause you make me ache, you bastard,"_

_And they’ll say "Oh how, oh how unreasonable_

_How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do_

_I’ll spend my days so close to you..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Fair" by The Amazing Devil, AKA the reason I'm not currently in a fetal position and the reason I love Joey Batey


	5. Catch Me I'm Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a short depiction of a panic attack

Lately Geralt has taken to wearing t-shirts more often. But if anyone were to claim it’s so he could look at his latest tattoo all day, Geralt would call them a liar. You know, like a liar. Because when someone creates a tattoo design that is a motif of what you are and what you aspire to be, who would want to stare at it all day in awe? Not Geralt. Nope. 

Geralt had also taken to wearing tight clothes lately. But if anyone were to claim that it’s because he enjoyed how a certain tattooist eyed him and licked his lips whenever Geralt wore skin tight clothing then...well, okay, they would be right. Can anyone blame him though? 

Ordinarily Geralt was used to two kinds of looks. A mixture of hatred and fear when he wore his Witcher attire and a mixture of befuddlement and disinterest when manning the flower counter. 

But Jaskier...Jaskier watched him like he was something to be _desired._ He talked to him like he was something to be _treasured._ And Geralt had no bloody clue what to do about it. 

So when Jaskier came bounding into his flower shop with a smile lighting up his face, Geralt had to tamp down the alarmingly strong desire to express the mess of emotions tangled up in his chest. Instead, he did what he had been doing every time Jaskier came into the shop. 

When Geralt wordlessly thrusted a flower in front of Jaskier, Jaskier’s grin melted into something softer and he leaned across the counter to peck Geralt on the cheek. Well. Okay. That was new. Geralt felt a warmth bloom in the spot where he was kissed, spreading throughout his body, and for a moment could only stare at the singer, speechless. 

Leaning his arms upon the counter, Jaskier put the flower to his nose and sniffed. Sighing with delight he remarked, “You know I’ve had to start pressing all the flowers you’re giving me into a book because I’ve run out of vases.” Smirking, Jaskier winked. “Good thing I have a lot of books on hand.” 

For a brief moment Geralt’s mind ground to a halt. Blinking dumbly at the singer, Geralt determinedly coaxed his brain to restart before croaking, “You’ve kept them all?” 

Eyes softening, Jaskier reached his arm out to squeeze Geralt’s hand. “Of course I have dear heart,” he smiled. “Each one is such a thoughtful gift, how could I not?” Geralt wondered vaguely what would happen if he just leaned over ever so slightly and claimed those parted lips. What would they taste like? How would they feel? 

An unknown period of time lapsed before Geralt blinked as the fingers previously in his hand now snapped in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Geralt?” Shaking his head clear, Geralt scowled and snatched Jaskier’s hand out of the air, only to find himself at a loss of what to do with it now. 

Staring helplessly at their clasped hands, Geralt flinched as a flower tickled his nose. As usual, Geralt’s ensuing glare did nothing to dissuade the singer. Jaskier must be the only person on the Continent not affected by Geralt, not intimidated by him in any way, and he had no idea why. 

He thought back to their first meeting, when Jaskier flippantly remarked on his lack of self-preservation instincts. Snorting to himself, Geralt gave a mental shrug. That certainly was one explanation. When fingers flicked his nose Geralt released a snarled, “What?” 

Arching an unimpressed brow, Jaskier aimlessly twirled his flower. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes but you galloped off to La La Land and forgot to bring me along!” Jaskier harrumphed. 

Rolling his eyes Geralt grunted, “Just tired. Didn’t sleep last night.” A trickle of guilt ran through Geralt at the lie but it wasn’t like he could actually tell Jaskier where his mind went off to. 

Jaskier’s look of annoyance melted away to one of concern. “You’re not going on a hunt tonight, are you?” Geralt’s heart clenched at the worry coloring the singer’s words. Gods, what had he done to deserve such consideration directed toward him? Jaskier had sunlight shining out of his pores while Geralt’s darkness consumed anyone near him. He cursed his weakness regarding Jaskier. He should be pushing him away, not showering him with flowers. 

“I know that look. That’s your self-loathing look and I won’t be having it, not today,” Jaskier declared, as a pair of cool hands cradled his face. The tattooist's hands and voice were like a lighthouse calling Geralt in from a storm. Slowly, Geralt pulled away from his darkened thoughts and blinked open the eyes he hadn’t realized he closed. 

“There you are,” Jaskier said softly, brushing his thumbs over Geralt’s cheeks. At some point Jaskier had set aside his flower and jumped onto the counter like he did the first day in the shop, legs on either side of Geralt. “What flower did you give me today, my White Wolf?” Jaskier inquired with a tilt of his head. Those bright blues eyes tethered Geralt to the moment, stopping him from being dragged back under the stormy waves of his thoughts. 

It started off as a joke.The second time Jaskier came to the shop Geralt handed Jaskier a dandelion and remarked, “Because you’re irksome like a weed.” 

Instead of looking affronted Jaskier grinned conspiratorially. “And because I’m growing on you like one, eh?” 

And the twinkle in Jaskier’s eye? Geralt couldn’t help himself. So he kept the flowers coming. Which brought them to today. “Gardenia,” Geralt grunted. He forced himself to look away at the soft smile he received in response, biting his cheek as Jaskier reached to undo Geralt’s bun, fighting against the urge to lean into the soft strokes of Jaskier’s hands. Jaskier can never know how deliberate the flowers Geralt handed him were. Good thing he didn’t know the language of flowers.

*******

Jaskier was so glad that he bought himself that book on the language of flowers. Despite what people said and what Jaskier’s general behavior would have you believe, he was no fool. And Geralt, bless his giant heart, was not subtle. After the first flower Geralt shoved into his face following that hilarious dandelion stunt, Jaskier went out and bought himself a “language of flowers” book. Because what his wolf lacked in words, he more than made up with in gestures. 

It started the day after Jaskier met Roach. When he realized that Geralt left Roach alone all day he insisted Geralt bring her to the flower shop. What was she going to do, eat all the flowers? That day, Jaskier was handed a bright pink flower with petals in a perfect circle. Morning Glories. In other words. _Affection._

It only grew from there. When they saw each other after Jaskier gave Geralt his tattoo, Jaskier was greeted by a tall purple stem. Salvias. _I think of you._ Then there was the day Geralt was in a rotten mood and Jaskier lingered in his shop anyway, telling outrageous jokes and making a fool of himself. When he got a startled laugh out of the florist Jaskier felt prouder than when he completed his first tattoo. That day he was handed a yellow tulip. _Sunshine in your smile._

Jaskier had lost count of the flowers he had been given. Edelweiss: _courage and devotion,_ when Jaskier told the story of what he said to the officers after that first hunt. Alyssum: _worth beyond beauty,_ when Jaskier made a self-deprecating remark about his past failed relationships. Marjoram: _joy and happiness,_ when all he did was lounge in Geralt’s shop, strumming on his guitar while Geralt seemingly ignored him. 

And now this. Gardenia. Jaskier read about that one recently. _Secret love._ Yes, his wolf was not subtle whatsoever. He practically screamed his devotion to Jaskier. Which was why Jaskier was excited for tonight. He was finally going to be able to reciprocate Geralt’s feelings, to show him that Jaskier felt the same. Oh yes, Jaskier couldn't wait. 

*******

“So,” Jaskier hummed, fingers dancing in Geralt’s locks. “I’m expecting you at my performance tonight.” At Geralt’s questioning sound Jaskier huffed. “I can’t very well debut my newest songs about the White Wolf without him there!” 

All at once, the tension that had slowly dissipated at the singer’s gentle touch returned in a rush. Pulling away from Jaskier, despite the screaming protests from a smothered piece of himself, he growled, “I told you not to write songs of me. It will put you in danger.” 

The rolled eyes he got in response only served to wind Geralt up tighter. Blood roared through his ears as panic clawed at his throat like a tiger trapped in a cage. If Jaskier sang praises of the Witcher everyone at the pub would turn on him. That light would be snuffed out just like that and then what would Geralt do? Jaskier had only been in his life for a few months but imagining him hurt felt like a kikimora’s limbs piercing his heart. 

When something touched his arm Geralt instinctually grabbed it and pinned it to the counter. Heart beating too fast and vision blurry, it took a moment for Geralt to realize that his assailant was Jaskier. All at once Geralt let go as if burned, taking giant steps back until he hit the back wall. See? This is why he can’t keep encouraging Jaskier to spend time with him. He was a monster, and the sooner Jaskier realized that the better.

Instead of bolting from the shop, Jaskier raised his hands and slowly approached Geralt as though he were an injured animal and not the savage predator he truly was. “I’m sorry I startled you Geralt,” Jaskier murmured. “You looked like you were panicking and your poor flowers were being crushed.” 

Mind working in a haze, Geralt’s eyes landed on a pile of mangled flowers he must have mutilated in his panic. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about them right now. “Get out,” he croaked. 

Stopping with a foot between them, Jaskier slowly sat on the ground. “No,” he said simply. No. As if it were that easy for him to stay after being physically attacked by an out of control mutant. All Geralt could do was stand there, adrenaline pulsing through his veins and hands itching helplessly for a weapon. To fight what? Himself? 

A silence as heavy as a winter coat fell on them and all that could be heard was Roach snoring in the corner as Geralt fought to control the panic raging within him. Since Jaskier met Roach, he insisted that Geralt keep her in the shop. (“You mean you leave the poor girl by herself all day?!” Jaskier had gasped. “Well that’s ending now.”) And for some godsforsaken reason Geralt listened. The singer had that kind of power over him. 

Now, at Jaskier’s whistle, Roach stretched and trotted over, nudging Jaskier’s knee before plopping down and looking expectantly up at Geralt. Slowly, limbs feeling like heavy weights, Geralt lowered himself to the ground and began petting Roach, incrementally relaxing as the dog rested her head in his lap with a satisfied huff. 

The storm inside Geralt slowly dissipated with every stroke he made through Roach's coat. Breath evening, Geralt channeled all his focus on the touch of Roach’s fur, the sounds of her breathing, the smells of the flowers permeating the shop. But there was another smell and sound in the room. The slow breath of a calm human, quiet humming, and a scent sweet like honey. 

Turning his gaze up, Geralt silently studied the remarkable man before him. Jaskier was sitting peacefully, humming softly as he weaved the flowers Geralt had ruined into what looked like a crown. He looked tranquil and content with not a whiff or hint of fear or disgust. Geralt didn’t understand.

“Why are you still here?” Geralt finally managed to ask. Jaskier’s humming paused and Geralt had to bite down on a sad whine that threatened to leak out. The tranquil melody had been steadying Geralt without him realizing it. 

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, Jaskier asked, “Why would I leave a friend in distress?” 

Shame curdled like one of his toxic potions inside Geralt’s stomach. The weakness he displayed today was unfathomable and unforgivable. He was supposed to be the Witcher, a powerful protector. Not this pathetic creature cowering in a corner. Before Geralt could continue his self-recrimination, Jaskier spoke, kneeling closer than before. “Is it okay to touch you?” 

Bristling, Geralt snarled like a cornered wolf. “Why would you want to?” 

The sadness in those blue eyes made Geralt’s stomach roll, yet the singer didn’t even flinch at Geralt’s tone. “Because you are in pain and I wish to give you comfort,” he explained simply. How did Jaskier keep catching Geralt by surprise? It was as though he possessed keys to the countless doors before Geralt’s heart, and with every word and every action he unlocked another and casually walked through. 

Mind and heart twisting out of control, Geralt stiffened and tightened his fingers through Roach’s coat. “I am the Witcher. I don’t need comfort,” Geralt spat. 

Head tilting, Jaskier said lightly, “Is that what you were taught? How silly.” Then, a brave, bold, beautiful hand reached out to stroke through Geralt’s hair. And all at once, he shattered. 

Bowing his head, Geralt asked raggedy, “What are you doing to me?” 

Steady hands guided Geralt down until he was lying in Jaskier’s lap. “I am allowing you to feel,” Jaskier answered simply. “And I am here to help you through it dear heart,” he added with a soft kiss to his temple. And at a complete loss of what to do, Geralt remained where he was placed as a terrifying wave of love crashed over him. 

Geralt didn’t know how long he lay there, sinking into gentle touches he had never known while drifting on the melody humming through Jaskier’s lips. All he knew was he felt the same peace he had when getting his tattoo weeks earlier. A peace he had never felt before. A dangerous peace. 

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Jaskier eventually asked, breaking Geralt’s reverie. 

Mind working sluggishly, Geralt furrowed his brow. “About what?” 

Opening his eyes, Geralt met Jaskier’s steady gaze, inexplicably feeling chained to the ground while being wrapped in warmth. “About the panic attack you experienced when I told you I was singing tonight.” 

Panic attack? “The Witcher feels no fear,” Geralt recited. A mantra drilled into him by Vesemir, the man who took him in when his parents threw him out on the streets. When they saw his golden cat-like eyes and silver hair, they knew there was something inhuman about him. Vesemir was the only reason he was alive. He took in other boys abandoned through no fault of their own, but Geralt was always the strongest. He was the most promising, until he failed them all. 

“Well that’s the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard,” Jaskier snorted. Stiffening, Geralt growled. How dare this human insult the teachings of Vesemir? As firm fingers tug at the strands of Geralt’s hair his indignation melted away like snow at the first signs of spring. 

“All living creatures feel fear. It is one of the unifying aspects of the world,” Jaskier murmured. “And you, my Witcher,” Jaskier declared, with a firm poke of Geralt’s nose, “are no exception.” 

Pecking Geralt’s nose with an affectionate kiss, Jaskier returned to stroking through his hair gently as Geralt processed his words. “Would you like me to give a guess of what happened?” 

“Hmm,” Geralt responded, closing his eyes at the singer’s caresses. 

Rolling his eyes with an affectionate smile, Jaskier quipped, “I’ll take that as a yes.” Pausing his ministrations, Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face so the vigilante would look up at him. “You are scared that I will be hurt tonight and you don’t know how to handle your fear. Since apparently it’s an emotion you don’t experience,” Jaskier added with a sardonic huff. 

Expression smoothing out, he smiled softly at Geralt. “That’s why I’m inviting you, my wolf. You can be my personal bodyguard whilst I sing your praises!”

The panic from earlier threatened to overtake Geralt again but he breathed through it, focusing on the fingers in his hair and Roach beneath his hand. “But why?” He finally asked, the question dragging out of him. “Why are you putting yourself at risk for me?”

Silence passed for several moments as Jaskier simply studied Geralt's face. A distant part of him wondered what the singer saw, but he couldn't be troubled to linger on that question for long. Geralt was too busy drowning in those soft blue eyes that promised warmth, that promised care, that promised love. “Oh my dear Geralt,” Jaskier finally sighed. Placing a hand of the vigilante’s heart, Jaskier gazed at him fiercely. “Because people must know how truly _good_ you are. I will change the public’s view of you if it is the last thing I do.” 

Quick like a snake, Geralt sat up and reached his arms out to grip Jaskier. “You can’t get hurt,” Geralt rasped. “Please,” he added, hating how pathetic he sounded as he pleaded. 

Taking hold of Geralt’s hands, Jaskier kissed them one at a time. “I don’t plan to be," he remarked with a smile that threatened to crack open Geralt's heart. "How could I when I have my White Wolf by my side?” Then, his soft smile turning mischievous, Jaskier reached around Geralt, retrieving and planting the flower crown he created atop the vigilant's head. "Perfect!" he grinned, adjusting the stands of Geralt's unruly hair. 

And for once, Geralt allowed Jaskier to fuss over him. He was surrounded by the sunflower scent of happiness, safe in the embrace of this strange human. Not even a kikimora's nest could drag him away from this.


	6. S.O.S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's night doesn't go as planned. Still, he can't complain with the end result.
> 
> _A curdle of warmth swept through Jaskier as he picked up the song where he had left off. Gods he can’t wait to get his hands on his wolf later tonight. It was going to be wonderful._

The Drunken Mistress was a ramshackle tavern in the center of town. Poorly lit, the popular watering hole's rickety tables and chairs were haphazardly crammed together upon a sticky floor. 

Jaskier loved it. Breathing in the mixture of ale and sweat from bodies pressed too closely together, Jaskier grinned to himself. This was his favorite place to perform, partly because of the atmosphere and in part because the patrons either loved you or hated you but would let you know loudly which they felt. 

As Jaskier set himself up by the microphone, he cast a furtive glance to the looming figure at the corner bar. After the panic-filled detour earlier today, Jaskier lingered in the flower shop to keep Geralt company, making every excuse to touch him he could come up with. His poor wolf needed all the affection Jaskier could give him. He was just relieved that Geralt agreed to come tonight and wasn’t currently latched onto him like a certain protective leech. As lovely as that would be under other circumstances, it would make it slightly difficult to play guitar. 

Checking himself in his phone camera, Jaskier couldn’t help preening. He looked good tonight. Eyeliner brought attention to his bright blue eyes and his golden blouse shimmered even in this shit lighting. Skin tight jeans and combat boots completed the outfit designed to draw stares. Jaskier would never admit it but he was a tad nervous about the reception he would get once he reached “Toss a Coin.”

It didn't help that the person who performed before Jaskier got shit thrown at them. (If anyone claimed that Jaskier was the first one to throw his bread at Valdo Marx he would happily take credit where credit was due.) But that’s why he needed to look especially good tonight. Draw them in with his looks, keep them hooked with his voice. He wasn’t foolish enough to open with "Toss a Coin" though. No-best to warm up the crowd first. 

Clearing his throat, Jaskier shot his most charming grin to the few people who glanced toward him with disinterest. Time to reel them in. “Hello everyone, I hope your evening is going as well as mine,” he said smoothly with a wink. “I will be performing a very special set of songs I recently wrote about a certain person I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. Let’s start off nice and slow, yeah?” 

With a steady breath, Jaskier studiously avoided a certain golden gaze he knew was staring straight at him. From the first strum on his worn guitar, Jaskier sunk into his music and allowed the background chatter to fade away. He wrote this song one night when he lay wide awake, haunted by the pain in Geralt’s inhuman eyes when he finally shared bits and pieces of the tale of Blaviken with Jaskier. Voice rising, Jaskier poured the helpless outrage that consumed him when he listened to Geralt’s story into the lyrics.

_There’s not enough rope to tie me down_  
_There’s not enough tape to shut this mouth_  
_The stones you throw can make me bleed_  
_But I won’t stop until we’re free_  
_Wild hearts can’t be broken_

As Jaskier fell deeper into the melody, his voice carried over the tavern, silence following in its wake. When Jaskier finished the song he opened his eyes to see the packed pub riveted on him. Preening, Jaskier soaked up the attention and grinned as applause erupted around him. He was counting on that song tugging on enough heartstrings to get people to tune in, even if they didn't fully understand the origin and meaning of it. 

Despite his attempt to resist the urge, Jaskier couldn’t help but cast a furtive glance over to that hidden corner. A pleasurable shiver ran down his spine at the dark, unfathomable gaze directed his way. Before he could fall too deeply into those molten gold orbs, Jaskier mentally shook himself and gave a flourishing bow to the crowd. “My thanks darlings for such a lovely reception,” he purred, with a strum of his guitar. “Let’s pick the pace up a bit, shall we?” he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Launching into his next song, Jaskier could feel the rise of energy from the crowd almost immediately. Gods but it was intoxicating. As he reached the chorus, Jaskier stopped playing and began clapping and stomping, grinning like a loon as he witnessed the patrons do the same. 

_Cross my heart and hope to die_  
_Taking this one step at a time_  
_I got your back if you got mine_  
_Oh-oh, one foot in front of the other_

This was why Jaskier loved this tavern, despite the crooked tables and piss ass ale. There was nothing more exhilarating than an enthusiastic audience who will dance and sing along to the music you create. Well-perhaps one thing is more thrilling. As Jaskier flitted from table to table, coaxing reluctant patrons to sing and nudging shoulders with drunken revelers, Jaskier briefly glanced over towards Geralt only to find himself tripping on air. A smile. An honest to gods _miniscule _smile was dancing on the vigilante’s lips and by the gods if it wasn’t the most beautiful sight Jaskier had ever seen…__

“Oi! Watch where yer prancing fairy!” a voice snarled. Looking up at the man Jaskier realized was Marx he had accidentally ran into, the singer swallowed down his rising indignation and shot him a dirty smirk. “Oh honey, you wish you could have some of my fairy dust,” Jaskier purred with a wink, before twirling away. 

From past experience, it was always wise to create some distance between yourself and drunken homophobes. Especially drunken homophobes you find a distinct pleasure in provoking. It’s better for everyone. As Jaskier turned, his eyes met with fiery golden ones belonging to a very angry looking florist currently making his way to Jaskier. 

Catching Jaskier's furtive shake of the head, Geralt released a quiet growl before stomping back over to glower from his seat. A curdle of warmth swept through Jaskier as he picked up the song where he had left off. Gods he can’t wait to get his hands on his wolf later tonight. It was going to be wonderful. 

Fortunately, no one else had noticed anything amiss, too much into the song they were still clapping and singing along to. After that near miss, there were no other incidents as Jaskier went through the rest of his latest repertoire. When his time was nearly up, Jaskier took a steady breath. Here goes nothing. “Now! You all have been the most lovely audience one could ask for,” he began with a warm smile. “To finish off my set, I would like to dedicate this latest song to the Witcher.” 

The few conversations that had been occurring up to that point cut out at his words. Gulping under the stares of animosity and apprehension now directed toward him, Jaskier stubbornly kept his smile plastered on. “I know, I know, the Witcher!” he exclaimed, spreading out his arms dramatically. “I heard the same stories you all have until I was at death’s door facing a nest of kikimora’s,” he began in a theatrical hush. 

Jaskier smirked to himself as he watched the faces surrounding him. He had their attention now. “Right as I was going to take my final stand, the Witcher burst through the darkness, slaying the beasts,” Jaskier cried, brandishing his guitar like a sword. “And, with no hesitation, he carried me to safety, tending to my wounds,” he finished, tracing a palm down an imaginary scar upon his chest. “Since that day, I have vowed to change the public’s opinion of this vigilante. For he is not a monster, but a hero!” 

All that could be heard in the pub was the breath of dozens of people enraptured by a story. Damn, Jaskier was good. “So my beautiful people, I give you my latest song, inspired by one of the Witcher’s most recent accomplishments!” Despite the curious looks he had been getting through the story, Jaskier could feel the tension through the crowd like a live wire as he began the song. But slowly, as he wove through the crowd with an encouraging smile and a hearty jig, the atmosphere began to relax again. Fuck yes! He knew this would be a hit.

Jaskier hardly had time to appreciate the tentative grins gracing people’s faces as they tapped along to the song before he felt fire lace through his back. Choking on the line he was on, Jaskier slowly turned to see a dagger protruding from his lower back. “Is that...a knife?” Jaskier asked dumbly, blinking slowly at Marx whose face twisted with hatred. 

“Serves you right for singing the praises of that monster,” he spat. 

Mind fogging over with pain Jaskier frowned. “You didn’t want to do that,” he informed the dead man solemnly. 

Jaskier had a second to enjoy the look of confusion that crossed Marx's face before said face was punched in by a very irate, very worried florist. “Fuck,” Geralt gritted out, hands hovering over the knife still _inside Jaskier’s body._

“My hero,” Jaskier grinned loopily, before collapsing into the arms he knew waited for him. 

*******

When he regained consciousness Jaskier noted a few things. First, fire ants were dancing the macarena up and down his spine. Second, this was slightly alleviated by something very soft and fluffy pressed against his side. Third, something smelled _really fucking good._

Blinking his eyes open, Jaskier found himself with a face full of pillow. Right. Get stabbed in the back, probably not a smart idea to lie down on said back. His attempt to roll himself to the side led to more fire ants joining the dance so Jaskier swiftly decided to nix that idea. The scent of chocolate and pine soon filled Jaskier’s nose as gentle hands gripped his arms to slowly lift him up.

Before him, Geralt sat on what must be his bed, silver hair in a messy bun and face streaked with flour. Grinning dopily Jaskier breathed, “Geralt, are you baking?” Geralt’s look of worry flashed to what could be described as flustered before settling on slight irritation. 

Ignoring jaskier’s pertinent question Geralt asked, “How are you feeling?” While he didn’t take his eyes off of Jaskier, Geralt reached out to Roach and began petting her, almost unconsciously. 

Grimacing Jaskier commented dryly, “Like I’ve been stabbed.” Expression darkening, Geralt began moving off of the bed before Jaskier launched his arm out to stop him in a panic. Immediately regretting his choice, Jaskier bit back a pained yell as Geralt froze under his palm. Meeting the florist’s confused eyes Jaskier murmured, “Please don’t leave.” 

Huffing, Geralt returned to his spot against the headboard, not commenting when Jaskier moved to rest his head in his lap. “My brownies are going to burn,” Geralt said after a while, hesitant fingers clumsily running through Jaskier’s hair. 

“Hmm,” was all Jaskier said in response, already drifting off. 

When Jaskier woke up again Geralt was in the same spot as before. Given the lack of flames though, he assumed the florist must have taken the brownies out at some point. “Don’t worry, I was able to get you to release me long enough to prevent my apartment from burning down,” Geralt rumbled from above. Jaskier smiled into the thigh he had been previously drooling upon, before squirming to sit up. 

When he finally managed it with some assistance, Jaskier sat silently for a moment, studying the man before him. He needed to choose his next words carefully so as not to frighten Geralt away. Given how skittish the vigilante had proven himself to be, that could be difficult. Reaching out, Jaskier grasped one of Geralt’s hands and began tracing each finger lightly. “This wasn’t exactly how I planned for this night to go,” Jaskier sighed. 

“Really? Because I always thought that a Friday night isn’t complete with a bit of light stabbing,” Geralt commented dryly. 

Grinning at the hand he was still toying with, Jaskier kissed the knuckles that had punched the lights out of his assailant. “I'm sorry I worried you,” he said softly. 

Jaskier watched with interest as that hand clenched tightly before relaxing into an open palm again. “I warned you that you would be in harm's way,” Geralt said raggedly. “And I promised I would protect you.” Jaskier couldn’t tell if he hallucinated how Geralt’s voice broke on those final words. 

Moving slowly so as not to exacerbate his injury, Jaskier brought his hands up to the sides of Geralt’s face. The poor man looked tormented and Jaskier could only imagine what he had been saying to himself while Jaskier lay here, unconscious. Smoothing down the florist’s furrowed brow Jaskier said gently, “I knew the risks and I would do it again. And though you are many things dear heart, you cannot predict the actions of those who may wish to do harm.” 

Jaskier released a soft whine as he watched this great monster hunter’s face crumple. Bringing Geralt down, Jaskier pressed their foreheads together, shushing the whimper that slipped out of the other man’s lips. “How can you forgive me so easily?” Geralt asked brokenly. 

“Because my dear wolf,” Jaskier stated, staring determinately into those lost golden eyes, “There is nothing to forgive.” 

When Jaskier imagined kissing Geralt, it was after he performed a song that was blatantly about his affection for the vigilante or it was after Geralt handed him yet another flower that confessed his love. Kissing Geralt after getting stabbed was not on the brainstormed list of scenarios but Jaskier would take it. That is, if Geralt would get with the program.

Jaskier had barely been able to taste the other man’s lips before Geralt tore himself away, panting like they had been kissing without abate for hours. “What-why-I,” the florist scrambled. 

Sighing, Jaskier firmly dragged the confused monster hunter back until their lips were a breath apart. “I want this Geralt. And if the flowers you have handed me are any indication, you want this as well,” he added wryly. “So let go of your misguided guilt and allow yourself to have it. To have _me._

Jaskier smirked at the fire that sparked in those golden eyes and then all thought flew out the window as hot desperate lips claimed his own. Sinking into the kiss with a sigh, Jaskier eagerly licked up the traces of chocolate he had smelt before. A wave of fondness at the image of this great hulking man stress baking threatened to consume him but Jaskier was promptly distracted as a sinful tongue began sliding through his lips. Releasing a greedy moan, Jaskier reveled in the urgent rumble he got in response as Geralt’s kissing increased in enthusiasm. 

As Jaskier arched into the burning touch tracing a path along his torso, he released a pained yelp at the strain it put on his back. “Mother fucking bloody son of a whore,” Jaskier hissed furiously, wriggling to try to alleviate the pain. A relieved sigh made his way past his lips as, moments later, battle-roughed hands pressed a cold compress onto his wound. “Thank you my dear,” Jaskier sighed with a fond peck of the lips. 

Grinning softly at the befuddled expression he got in response, Jaskier carefully leaned forward until his head was cushioned by a deliciously muscular chest. Geralt rested his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in deeply before placing a soft kiss against his pulse. Sturdy arms were wound protectively around Jaskier, as Geralt’s hands continued to apply pressure to Jaskier’s wound. 

As he rested there something occurred to him. “Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly. “Why wasn’t I brought to a hospital?” 

The lovely pillow under him stiffened at his words and Jaskier waited patiently as Geralt clearly struggled silently. Finally, the vigilante replied shortly, “Didn’t trust them.” A strong palm began brushing nervously through Jaskier’s hair. Before Jaskier could scoff at the slight absurdity of not trusting a hospital to make a couple of stitches, Geralt continued gruffly, “Needed to take care of you. They wouldn’t have let me in.” His confession sounded like it was dragged into the open kicking and screaming and Jaskier wasn’t sure if his heart could handle the warmth that flooded in his chest in response. 

Pressing a kiss over the vigilante’s heart Jaskier said softly, “Thank you for taking care of me.” When all he got was a grunt in acknowledgement, Jaskier hid his shit-eating grin in Geralt’s chest. “Though I don’t know how well “witcher” and “stress baker” rhyme,” he added with studied nonchalance, giggling at the vibrating growl he got in response. 

Jaskier was happy to note that the hand currently not holding a cold compress was still steadily stroking through Jaskier’s hair, despite the apparent annoyance its owner was currently feeling. “Thank you for not running away when I kissed you,” Jaskier whispered, turning serious. 

At his words, Jaskier felt his face lifted. Gods he could write so many songs about those burning golden eyes currently piercing him. “Thank you for the kiss,” Geralt murmured, before claiming Jaskier’s lips once again. Yes, this was certainly not how Jaskier planned for this night to go, but he was definitely not complaining about the end result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> "Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken" by P!nk  
> "One Foot" by Walk the Moon"
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. AKA how much fluff is too much and whoops how did that angst get in there? Dammit Geralt!

Jaskier groaned as a stream of light hit his eyelids. Gods, but he was not ready to be conscious again. When his pillow moved at his pathetic moan Jaskier paused, confused. Since when do pillows move? Slowly, events from last night trickled back to Jaskier and, terrified it was all a dream, he jolted up. 

Cursing at what was a very poorly thought out decision, Jaskier was faced with a long suffering expression of someone who had witnessed Jaskier do something similar the night before. But Jaskier couldn’t be bothered to even stick his tongue out at Geralt’s retreating back because it meant that last night _wasn’t_ a dream. Which, sure, meant that the getting stabbed part of the evening was also a reality but who the fuck cares about that? He kissed Geralt and Geralt _kissed him back._

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Geralt grumbled, returning with a new cold compress to place against Jaskier’s back.

Hissing in satisfaction, Jaskier beamed up at the florist currently frowning at him. “You kissed me,” he stated happily. 

Grunting, Geralt adjusted them both so they were face to face and in the same position as last night while he iced Jaskier’s wound. “I recall you kissing me,” he remarked softly. 

Humming, Jaskier tilted his head until he could meet the other man’s averted gaze. “True, but _you_ kissed me back,” he breathed, before claiming those alluring lips once again. And gods, even with morning breath Jaskier couldn’t name a better kiss. His pain slipped away as Jaskier soaked up the sensations of surprisingly soft lips tracing over his own, a tongue flicking teasingly against Jaskier’s mouth, a hand raking its way through Jaskier’s hair. It was luxurious and Jaskier reveled in every touch as a lazy heat pooled in his stomach. Jaskier couldn’t get enough. 

Jaskier cursed his too-human lungs when he eventually had to part from Geralt in order to catch his breath. His heart melted at the soft, lost gaze boring into him, like Geralt couldn’t believe what was happening and didn’t understand why. Well, Jaskier would just have to convince Geralt that this was real. Leaning forward again, Jaskier began kissing and tracing every area of skin he could reach, enthralled by the slight tremors under him. He knew he had a way with words but sometimes it was better to show how you felt, not just say it. Jaskier smiled in his kiss on Geralt’s nose as he felt the other man begin to melt under his touch. With every kiss, more and more tension leaked out of the vigilante until he was a puddle under Jaskier’s hands and lips. 

An indeterminate time passed before Jaskier finally pulled away, grinning at the forlorn whine that slipped out of lax lips in response. Geralt stared at him, eyes heavy-lidded and his usual pristine posture slumped, the florist lazily following Jaskier’s movements like a sunbathing panther. Jaskier greedily soaked up the salivating image presented before him, vowing to himself to figure out what sounds he could get out of his wolf at a later date. For now, he stroked a hand through silken hair, grinning at the purr and nuzzle he got in response. Determining that breakfast could wait, Jaskier guided Geralt back down to the bed, releasing a contented sigh as he was reunited once again with the most priceless pillow that existed. 

When Jaskier woke from his doze it was to the delectable smell of breakfast. Yawning, Jaskier crawled out of the bed, traipsing into the kitchen to follow the scent. By the stove stood Geralt, clad in a loose pair of sweatpants and a tank top and-Jaskier’s heart swooned-barefoot. He came out straight from every man’s wet and domestic dream and Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from walking up to wrap his arms around him. 

Geralt stiffened minutely before relaxing again, flipping an omelet without looking up. “I was about to come in to make sure you were still alive,” he rumbled. 

Grinning into his lover’s shoulder Jaskier replied, “I’m sure if I so much as breathed differently you would have come running in a blind panic,” he teased lightly. The lack of response informed Jaskier how accurate he was. 

Geralt switched off the burner, plating the food before turning to Jaskier. “How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes roving up and down Jaskier in search of any problems. 

Reaching out to kiss the frown off of Geralt’s face Jaskier replied fondly, “I’ll live, dear heart.” 

As they settled down to eat, joy threatened to bubble out through song. Jaskier wasn’t sure if they would ever get to this point and he was so ecstatic and painfully relieved that Geralt hadn’t run from it. Studiously ignoring the daggers being sent his way as Jaskier slipped bits of bacon to the adorable dog currently begging at his feet, Jaskier beamed up at his companion. “So what’s our plan for the day?” he inquired. 

Geralt only grunted, shoveling in another mouthful of food. Though his love had many lovely qualities, table manners was clearly not one of them. When Jaskier gave him an unimpressed look, Geralt swallowed his current bite before replying bluntly, “Planning on finding the guy who stabbed you so I could introduce him to my swords.” Jaw dropping, Jaskier took a moment to process the enormity of what Geralt just said. The vigilante who hunted monsters and had said on more than one occasion that he doesn’t deal with human affairs was planning on murdering a man for attacking Jaskier. 

Horror and adoration were currently fighting for dominance in Jaskier’s chest and while the darker side of Jaskier might revel in some revenge, he knew he could never allow his wolf to do such a thing. Geralt was constantly surrounded by a dark cloud of pain and self-hate and murdering a man, even one who may deserve such a treatment, would only hurt his soul more. 

Standing up, Jaskier gingerly made his way to Geralt before plopping himself in his lap. Hooking his arms around the vigilante’s neck Jaskier smiled softly at him. “No,” he said simply. 

The fire that had been burning in the eyes Jaskier loved so much was snuffed out, confusion taking its place in a blink. “But...he hurt you,” Geralt said slowly. “Don’t you want him to pay?” 

Placing his palm upon Geralt’s chest Jaskier said with gentle force, “Not at the risk of your soul.” When Geralt only frowned further, Jaskier kissed him softly before clarifying, “I won’t have you hurt yourself by hurting him. Let him wallow in his miserable existence. That’s punishment enough.” From Geralt’s soft whine Jaskier could tell that he was still confused. At a loss of what else to say, Jaskier reclaimed his lips, smiling into the kiss when Geralt opened for him. The kiss was languid, lazy, and so godsdamned good it caused Jaskier to shiver with desire. In due time, he told himself firmly. 

Jaskier froze as reality hit. “Mother of gods I have work!” he exclaimed, moving to jump out of Geralt’s lap only to be firmly fixed in place. Releasing an unflattering “Oof” Jaskier looked at Geralt curiously. 

Clearly his throat sheepishly Geralt drummed his fingers on Jaskier’s waist. “Called in for you. Said there was a medical emergency,” Geralt explained shortly, looking anywhere but at Jaskier. Gods. This man. How much more thoughtful could he be? 

Leaning forward, Jaskier kissed him tenderly. “Thank you, dear heart,” Jaskier smiled. Twirling his fingers through Geralt’s hair Jaskier hummed, “In that case, here’s _my_ idea for our day. We laze about that soft looking sofa while I braid your hair, we eat more of your delicious cooking, I try your mouth watering baking, and then you take me out on a date. Deal?” Golden eyes search for something in Jaskier’s gaze so Jaskier simply watched Geralt, content to wait for him to come to a decision. Finding whatever he was looking for, Geralt gave a hesitant nod, causing Jaskier to break into a grin. It was looking to be a perfect day. 

*******

Jaskier could die happy. He currently had the largest and cuddliest blanket/pillow wrapped around him, softly purring as Jaskier played with his hair, Jaskier’s stomach was fit to bursting from the amount of delicious food he had eaten (Geralt was a master stress baker), and he was in the midst of composing about a dozen love songs. 

“Hero and flavor don’t rhyme,” the pile of mush sprawled around him mumbled. 

Tugging reproachfully at the strand of hair Jaskier was in the midst of braiding, smirking at the moan he got in response, Jaskier replied archly, “I am simply brainstorming darling, I had no idea you were such a critic.” 

Jaskier returned to his work, finishing off the latest braid before Geralt spoke again, voice low and hesitant. “Those songs last night…” 

Jaskier discovered early on that Geralt often had things to say but frequently grappled with the words so Jaskier learned how to wait patiently. When nothing else was forthcoming, Jaskier kissed Geralt’s forehead before stroking through his hair. “Hmm?” he prompted, watching Geralt’s eyes dart anywhere but at Jaskier as he fought with himself. 

Seconds ticked by marked only by Roach’s content snores by their feet. Then finally, Geralt took a steady breath. “You said they were about someone you were thinking about.” Jaskier’s heart ached at Geralt’s conflicted expression. Gods was this man’s self-esteem so low that he didn’t realize who Jaskier was singing about? After a moment’s thought Jaskier determined that wasn’t it at all. Geralt had just learned not to get his hopes up that good things were meant for him as well. 

Gripped with a desperate desire to drain away Geralt’s pain, Jaskier kissed him gently, insistently, desperately pouring his love into every breath. The whimper he received in response told Jaskier that he was at least partly successful. When they parted again Jaskier dragged his thumb across Geralt’s kiss swollen lips. “They were about you, my love,” he said softly. 

Geralt’s eyes widened. “Love?” he mouthed, lips tickling Jaskier’s thumb.

“Of course, Mr. Gardenia,” Jaskier teased fondly. Lying so close, Jaskier could feel how Geralt stiffened at his words. Thinly concealed panic flared behind his eyes and Jaskier, eager to soothe him, kissed Geralt’s forehead. “You weren’t subtle my dear and I thank you for that. Otherwise I may not have known if my affections were returned,” Jaskier explained hurriedly, anxiously watching as tension slowly seeped out of the florist’s frame. In its wake came the most charming blush that caused Jaskier to grin foolishly. 

“Words can be hard dear heart,” Jaskier murmured with a quick press of his lips, grinning when Geralt tried chasing after him. “So I am more than happy to continue being showered by flowers with hidden meanings if that is easier for you while I remain the wordsmith of this relationship.” Jaskier didn’t think he could melt from fondness more until Geralt looked up at him with admiration and awe shining in his eyes. Shivering at the strength of that gaze being sent his way, Jaskier couldn’t help himself from stealing another kiss, moaning as Geralt licked at his lips hungrily. 

They spent the rest of the day like that, tangled up in each other as Geralt discovered every area and touch that made Jaskier gasp, made him moan, made him melt in a puddle of want. And Jaskier, for his part, swiftly learned how to make his wolf howl and gods was it beautiful. 

*******

“Are you sure you’re well enough to be going out?” Geralt fretted as Jaskier slowly slipped on one of Geralt’s oversized shirts. Jaskier had briefly mourned his beautiful golden blouse when Geralt meekly showed him the damage but on the bright side, he now got to be surrounded by the florist’s unique and hypnotizing scent. 

Huffing out an exasperated sigh Jaskier quipped, “It’s just a light stabbing for Melitele’s sake Geralt!” Jaskier bit his lip at the darkened expression he got in response. Right. Too soon. Releasing a soft breath Jaskier gripped Geralt’s clenched fists in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over the other man’s hardened knuckles. “I have a reputation to uphold,” he declared. “I must wine and dine you like the gentleman I am.” 

Gods Jaskier could melt at the soft snort Geralt made in response. “Gentleman isn’t a word I would use to describe you.” 

Gasping in mock outrage, Jaskier huffed. “The injustice I must endure!” he bemoaned, lips twitching as Geralt rolled his eyes. “Well,” he sighed, “I suppose it is my burden to bear since I am the one who has fallen in love with you.” A proper smile crossed Jaskier’s face at the soft look being shot his way. Gods, part of Jaskier wanted to hide in Geralt’s apartment for the rest of eternity so he could keep this man and his softened core to himself. Hmm. Perhaps there will be a weekend where Jaskier could convince Geralt to stay locked in here with him. Jaskier could be pretty persuasive when he wanted to be. Pushing away the flicker of arousal at the thought, Jaskier finished dressing before marching Geralt through the door. 

The place Jaskier brought Geralt to was a quiet tavern, small enough for the vigilante to hopefully relax enough to enjoy himself without having to keep track of every person in the place. Releasing a lovestruck sigh, Jaskier allowed himself to shamelessly stare. Before, Jaskier attempted more discreet and furtive glances, never wanting to scare off Geralt. But now he could look his fill and despite the unfortunate sunglasses hiding those beautiful eyes, it was quite a sight. 

“Stop staring,” his paramour finally grumbled, ducking from Jaskier’s gaze self-consciously. Jaskier rested his cheek into his palm as he plopped his elbow on the wooden table. 

“You can’t blame me for wanting to look my fill now that I’m allowed,” Jaskier smirked, silently cheering as he watched Geralt’s ears turn red. Gods, making this looming monster hunter blush was quickly becoming one of Jaskier’s favorite pastimes. Absentmindedly, Jaskier played with the daisy sticking from behind his ear. Before they had left for dinner Geralt had gently placed it there like the romantic he was. 

Unfortunately Jaskier didn’t have his book on him so it took him several minutes of cajoling and bribery before Geralt told him the meaning. “Hope,” Geralt had growled, before consuming Jaskier in a heated kiss the singer was guessing was an attempt to distract him from how sappy the florist truly was. Who could blame Jaskier, then, for currently being a pile of lovesick goo? 

*******

Geralt eyed Jaskier over the glass of wine the singer insisted he got as Jaskier released another soft sigh, twirling the daisy Geralt had handed him. A curdle of possessive warmth curled around Geralt’s chest like a content cat. Discovering that Jaskier had known all along what the different flowers he had been given meant was somewhat mortifying but when he saw Jaskier touch the daisy with that self-satisfied grin Geralt couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Taking a methodical bite out of the overpriced chicken that Geralt could begrudgingly admit was as mouthwateringly good as Jaskier had claimed when he made him order it, Geralt tried to process the past 24 hours. Geralt hated how his breath had caught at the songs Jaskier had sung the previous night after he alluded to someone that had been on his mind. Of course he wanted to believe Jaskier was talking about him but Geralt couldn’t imagine that a beast like him could inspire such aching beauty. 

Then Jaskier was stabbed and Geralt’s mind had learned that despite what the public believed and he himself insisted, the Witcher could 100% feel fear and terror and panic as blinding and debilitating as any human. After he stabilized Jaskier, Geralt had rehearsed a whole speech in his head while he baked through the anxiety coursing through his veins. Thought about writing it all out even. About how spending time with him was a mistake and they couldn’t see each other again. 

And if that didn’t work, Geralt resigned himself to making the singer hate him. He would yell at Jaskier, spit lies, do anything that would get him away from the poison that was Geralt so he could remain safe. But if there was one thing Geralt knew about Jaskier, it was that he always did the unexpected. So now they sat at an honest to gods date and Geralt’s plans had been thrown down the shitter and he was grappling with how to still push Jaskier away because he couldn’t see Jaskier hurt again and he couldn’t watch the light flicker from his eyes and he couldn’t contaminate him with his darkness and-- 

Geralt drew in a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding at the touch of familiar guitar-calloused fingers. Blinking open eyes he had closed at some point, he stared helplessly into soft sad eyes. Gods, see? Even when he wasn’t saying or doing anything he hurt Jaskier he- 

“Geralt.” Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. He had never heard Jaskier speak in that tone of voice before. Smoothly, like he wasn’t still recovering from a knife wound ( _your fault your fault_ a voice chanted in his head), Jaskier walked around the table and kneeled before Geralt. Geralt wanted to protest at the action; they were in a godsdamned restaurant and who knows how dirty those floors are and he was aware how much Jaskier adored those jeans-but no words could come out. 

Warm hands clasped around his own brought attention to the fact that Geralt was trembling. _Weak_ that voice hissed. Chapped lips pressed firmly against each of Geralt’s knuckles and all Geralt could do was watch, mouth dry. “Talk to me,” Jaskier breathed, blue eyes that featured in countless dreams of Geralt’s bore into his. 

Shaking his head, Geralt forced his training to take over. Slipping into the aloof facade of the Witcher, Geralt pushed Jaskier away, smothering the whimper that wanted to slip out at the look of hurt that crossed the singer’s face. “You need to leave. We can’t see each other again,” Geralt stated, savagely draining any emotion from his words and his face. 

Instead of looking upset, Jaskier’s eyes grew flinty and he stood with a liquid grace like a lynx stalking its prey. Gripping Geralt’s chin, Jaskier lifted his face so Geralt couldn’t avoid his gaze. “Listen close to me Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier hissed. Geralt couldn’t help the inappropriate shudder of want that rippled down his spine. He had never witnessed this side of Jaskier before. “You can grunt and hum and slash and hack all you want. You can gripe and complain about my chattering and singing. You can speak in monosyllables and flowers all bloody day and night. But if you plan to push me away, you better bloody mean it and not just do it because you’re too cowardly to allow yourself to have something good for once.” 

As Jaskier finished his speech Geralt flinched, feeling flayed alive. How did this mere human manage to crack Geralt open and reveal every one of his hidden fears? Releasing Geralt, Jaskier calmly walked back to his seat, taking a steady sip of his wine. Leaning forward, Jaskier raised an eyebrow, a challenging spark in his eyes. “Well? Let’s hear it then.” 

They sat staring at each other for a long moment, Jaskier with a stubbornly defiant tilt of his chin and Geralt lost and helpless. A feeling he should be getting used to around the singer. Geralt opened his mouth just to click it shut when no words were forthcoming. His second attempt proved just as fruitless. 

Finally, he released a broken sigh and raked his hands through the hair Jaskier had so painstakingly braided earlier. Just the memory of that afternoon sent a shot of panic and pain through Geralt’s chest. As much as he longed to look anywhere but at Jaskier, he knew that he owed it to the singer to look him in the eyes for this. But the tattered remains of his will drifted away like leaves in a breeze when Geralt spotted a small crack in Jaskier’s veneer. Just a sliver, but enough to show the hurt and uncertainty and resignation hiding behind his bluster. 

And just like that, Geralt cracked. “I can’t lose you,” Geralt whispered brokenly. 

Jaskier’s eyes softened just slightly but there was still steel in his gaze that made Geralt feel as small as a pup. “Then stop trying to chase me away,” Jaskier replied deliberately, standing and bracing his hands on the table so he could loom over the vigilante. “You do not control me; I am a grown man who can make my own damned decisions.” 

A storm of responses tumbled through Geralt’s mind. About how he has to leave for Jaskier’s safety, how Jaskier was a fool to want to remain with him, how whenever Jaskier wasn’t around Geralt felt like he was drowning and how much it terrified him. But no words came. So hesitantly, slowly, he nodded. And when a soft small smile cracked open the hardened mask Jaskier had been wearing, Geralt relaxed minutely. 

He still didn’t know what he was going to do about this. Terror at losing Jaskier and a desperate need to run to the hills still swirled through Geralt’s chest. But as Jaskier began playing with the flower again, chattering about his latest tattoo ideas, Geralt breathed a hearty scent of happiness like honey, the stale bitterness of fear and hurt already fading away. 

Impulsively, Geralt reached across the table to snatch Jaskier’s hand, heart clenching at the bright smile and squeeze he received in response. And like that, for once, Geralt allowed himself to stop wondering about wrong and right, what he should or shouldn't do. All that he knew was that Jaskier was here, now, and he would rip apart anyone who tried to take that away from him, even if it were Geralt himself.


	8. I Put a Spell on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calanthe is relentless and Geralt and Jaskier are lovesick. Yennefer is just exasperated.

Jaskier released a longing sigh as he watched Geralt twist and twirl around the wyvern he was fighting. Sunlight glinted off the sweat beading down the vigilante’s shrouded face, making him look more like a literal god than usual. With a roll Geralt managed to land in the creature’s blindspot and, braced on one knee, beheaded it. The Witcher rested there for only a moment before beginning to take the monster apart to salvage its valuable organs. 

Grimacing at the sight, Jaskier averted his gaze and returned to his songbook from the safe distance away Geralt insisted on. Beside a doodle of the battle, Jaskier began jotting down song lyrics that were jumping to mind like kernels of popcorn. “Well done my dear Witcher!” he called distractedly. “This will certainly turn into a rousing number.” 

When a shadow cast over Jaskier’s notebook, the singer frowned and looked up, mouth open to offer a scathing rebuke to whoever was rude enough to interrupt his musings. Whatever he would have said got stuck in his throat though when he witnessed who it was. “Sergeant Calanthe,” Jaskier said, voice cracking nervously. Casting a furtive glance to where Geralt was taking apart the corpse, he watched as the vigilante froze and shot up, expression stormy. Gods, Jaskier only hoped Geralt wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

Shooting the officer his most charming smile Jaskier remarked lightly, “What can I do for you this fine spring day?” 

Jaskier could feel his grin beginning to wither under the force of his companion’s stare. “I’m taking you in custody for abetting a wanted man,” she informed him sharply. Jaskier’s stomach plummeted; he was wondering when she would confront him again. Well if she thought he was going to just fold that easily... “I’m sorry officer but last time I checked writing poetry is not a crime,” he informed her sweetly, distantly amazed by his own audacity. 

Jaskier gulped at the hardened glare he received in response. “I suggest you come with me unless you would like resisting arrest to be added to your list of charges.” Anger flared within Jaskier like a spark to gasoline but the singer determinately swallowed it down. It won’t do to fight her; Geralt would feel obligated to intervene. Without another word Jaskier closed his notebook and tucked it into his light jacket. Sparing a fleeting glance back to Gerallt in which he tried to pour his wish for the stubborn man to stay out of whatever was happening, Jaskier allowed himself to be led away. 

*******

When Geralt strode through the station in his Witcher attire he forced himself not to flinch, though no one would blame him if he did. It’s a natural response most people would have when an entire station of officers were suddenly pointing their weapons at you. Geralt had his hands up in peace but that didn’t seem to relax anyone. He supposed the two giant swords he still had strapped to his back wouldn't have a very calming effect on people. 

“You have kitty eyes!” a small voice exclaimed. Blinking, Geralt glanced down at a young girl with long blond hair staring eagerly up at him. 

Quirking his lips Geralt rumbled, “Yes, I’ve been told I’m part cat in more ways than one.” Geralt ignored the scoffs of derision he received in response. 

Tilting her head curiously the girl observed, “You have a flower in your hair. It’s very pretty.” Furrowing his brow, Geralt reached in his hair and plucked out a bright yellow flower. Goldenrod. _Good fortune._ Geralt smiled softly as he twirled the stem in his hand. That sneaky man. He must have slipped it into Geralt’s hair when he was kissing the lights out of him before Geralt faced off with the wyvern. 

Turning to look at the girl, Geralt kneeled down. “This is a goldenrod flower and it means good fortune. It was given to me by someone very special. Would you like to have it?” Geralt’s smile grew at the gasp of delight from the girl. 

But before she could respond a voice barked through the station. “Cirilla! Get away from that thing.” All at once Geralt’s expression closed off as he withdrew back to his full height. 

The girl turned to Sergeant Calanthe with a pout. “But he’s so nice Grandmother! He was giving me a flower!” 

Weathered hands grasped Cirilla and pulled her behind the officer. “You can’t trust someone like him Cirilla,” she stated darkly without taking her eyes off of Geralt. “There’s a reason they keep their names and faces hidden; destruction and darkness follows in their wake.” 

Nudging the girl towards a man lounging in his chair and watching the whole drama unfold with lazy eyes, Calanthe gestured at two uniformed officers. “Take him to Interrogation Room 2.” 

Though the two men grasped Geralt and began pushing him forward, Geralt remained in place. “I’m not going anywhere until you release Jaskier,” Geralt growled. 

The sergeant raised an elegant brow and released a dark chuckle. “You are in no position to be making demands, Witcher.” Geralt continued to stare placidly back at her. “Then I am leaving and you won’t have this opportunity again.” He remained blank faced as Calanthe scrutinized him, trying to catch his bluff but Geralt knew he would win out. This officer had been on him since Blaviken 3 years ago and she wouldn’t risk letting him slip through her fingers. 

Without breaking their stand off, Calanthe gestured impatiently at an officer gawking in the back. A moment later Jaskier was guided out from the back, complaining loudly. “I’ll have you know this has been one of the most boring hours of my life and I once had to attend a lecture on Music Theory of the 15th Century. I can't even get a good song out of this miserable experience.” 

Suddenly Geralt wasn’t in control of his face anymore as a small, relieved smile crossed it. “Jaskier, you’re okay.” Those blue eyes that haunted and graced Geralt’s dreams in equal measure shot up to meet his own before the singer was racing across the station, heedless of the shouts to stop. 

Ignoring the restraining hand of the sergeant, Jaskier gripped Geralt by the shoulders. “Why are you here?! Didn’t you get my telepathic message to not do anything stupid??” 

Lips twitching, Geralt responded dryly, “You know my telepathy can be finnicky,” crowing inwardly at the looks of panic and horror at some of the officers surrounding them. Serves them right

“Mr. Pankratz, you are released but I must insist you remove your hands from my prisoner,” Calanthe snarled. Ignoring the woman, Jaskier drew Geralt into a heated kiss and, despite the many eyes and murmurs around them, Geralt allowed himself to enjoy this fleeting moment. He had no idea when he would get to feel the singer under him again. 

“I’ll fix this,” Jaskier said desperately before claiming Geralt’s lips once more. As he was led away, burning under the curious gaze of Calanthe, Geralt kept his face straight ahead, knowing he would lose his resolve if he allowed himself to look back at his songbird. 

*******

“Is he your boyfriend?” a voice piped up by Jaskier’s side. Wiping away the tears streaming down his face Jaskier blinked at the little girl perched on another officer’s knee. 

Smiling wistfully Jaskier remarked, “He’s the love of my life.”

“If you ask me you outta be locked up along with that crazy animal,” a voice called from a distant desk. 

Whirling toward the sound Jaskier began stalking toward the man, seeing red. “Bet you don’t have the guts to say that to his face,” Jaskier hissed. “He’s twice the man you are and if you think differently than let’s have it out now!” 

Before he could grab the officer smugly leaning back in his chair, Jaskier found a pair of steady hands gently restraining him from behind. “Not worth it my boy,” a warm voice informed him. “Your man just got you outta here. Think how irritated he’ll be if we have to arrest you again.” 

Deflating like a popped balloon Jaskier slumped in the stranger’s hold. “Geralt is the best man I know. He protects you all without expecting anything in return and all you do is mock and deride him,” Jaskier ranted in a watery voice. With a frustrated sigh Jaskier allowed himself to be guided back to where the little girl was stationed and sat in the proffered chair. 

Soon he found himself sipping a cup of hot tea and watching the girl Ciri curiously as she giggled with the detective who stopped him from attacking the officer like a feral cat. “So you are actually in love with that woman?” Jaskier asked incredulously. 

Detective Eist rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “She’s not as bad as she appears,” he insisted. “Sure she’s utterly terrifying and would disembowel me if she learnt I’m talking to you but she cares deeply for her job.” The twinkling eyes dull as he continued speaking. “One of our officers was killed during the mess of Blaviken so she’s had it out for your fella ever since.” 

Shaking his head, Jaskier sighed heavily. “I understand why Blaviken would be a sore topic for her but Geralt only killed people out of self-defense and even with that knowledge he is haunted by that day. He helps and saves the people of the city. Why can't she and the rest see that?” 

Cirilla had been watching the exchange silently but now she spoke up, eyes returning to a drawing she had been working on since they all sat down. “Grandmother always said the Witcher was a monster but monsters don’t give people flowers,” she informed them gravely. 

For the first time all conversation Jaskier glanced over at her drawing and beamed when he saw what it was. “Oh my darling, Geralt will love that!” he gushed, tracing a finger over the stick figure version of the love of his life holding out a crooked flower. The bright smile he got in response could melt the coldest of hearts. 

Thrusting the picture to Jaskier she said eagerly, “Here! You can give it to him when you free him!” 

Chuckling at how Eist balked at that insinuation, Jaskier took the drawing with a grateful smile and seated bow. “My thanks.” Turning to survey the station and the many glares sent his way Jaskier let out a bitter sigh. “I believe I will take my leave before I have worn out my welcome.” Flashing a smile at the grandfather and grandaughter, Jaskier said warmly, “It was lovely to meet you two. Perhaps we can do this again under more pleasant circumstances.” And as he turned from the duo, Jaskier allowed his smile to melt away. Right. Time to free his man. 

*******

As Jaskier knocked on the imposing door he rehearsed his pitch one more time. Never in all his dreams did Jaskier think he would meet Geralt’s incredibly terrifying ex but needs must and all that rubbish. The door opened to a woman with raven hair and a silken red dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. For a moment Jaskier’s brain stopped working as it processed the fact that a) this woman was real and b) Geralt replaced her with a scrawny tattoo artist?? 

Yennefer cleared her throat impatiently. Right, yeah. Save Geralt now. Panic over Jaskier’s complete inadequacy compared to this goddess of a woman later. With what he hoped passed for a convincing smile, Jaskier reached out a hand. “Jaskier. You and I are acquainted with the same grumpy florist.” 

Yennefer flicked her eyes down to Jaskier’s hand like it was a pile of shit on the bottom of her shoe. “I’ve heard of you. Geralt won’t shut up about his little songbird.” A bubble of warmth spread through Jaskier’s chest despite the snide tone in her voice and his smile turned far more genuine. 

“Really? What has he said?” Remembering himself Jaskier shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. Tell me another time, I’ll buy you drinks.” 

Raising an unimpressed brow Yennefer crossed her arms. “What shit did that buffoon find himself in this time?” Guiltily, Jaskier relayed the story before bracing himself to be hexed or some shit for his undeniable role. When all Yennefer did in response was disappear in her home for a moment before emerging in a more PG outfit and a briefcase, Jaskier sighed in relief. Thank the gods Geralt dated a scary witch who chose a career path as an even scarier lawyer. 

*******

When Geralt emerged from the station hours later Jaskier leapt into his arms, shivering with delight at how effortlessly Geralt was able to hold him up. “Please tell me you didn’t sell your soul Jaskier,” Geralt begged, nuzzling his face into the crook of Jaskier's neck. 

Pulling away, Jaskier looked at Geralt solemnly. “No Geralt, but I did have to give her my singing voice and if I can’t get my true love to kiss me before midnight I’ll be cast off to sea.” When Geralt only looked at him in horror Jaskier thunked his head against his chest. “You. Me. Disney marathon. Now Geralt,” he ordered before dragging the florist away. 

“You owe me a year’s worth of drinks for defending that idiot Pankratz! “Yennefer called out as the two men walked away. "It was almost like he _wanted_ to stay arrested.

Waving his hand impatiently Jaskier huffed, “Yes yes name the time and place my lovely sorceress." 

Geralt continued following Jaskier in silence for another moment before remarking with dawning horror, “I don’t know how I feel about you two hanging out.” 

Flashing him a wicked smirk Jaskier replied, “Oh my love, this is a monster of your own making,” before snuggling beside Geralt for the rest of their walk home. 


	9. This is War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Geralt trudged through the door after spending an hour going through flower arrangements with a hysterical bride-to-be, all he wanted to do was curl up with his lark and drown in his scent. The shouts that greeted Geralt when he walked through the door however informed him that this dream was doomed to fail before it began._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening of this chapter is inspired by SleepingReader's comment. Thank you for the idea! 
> 
> TW: brief depictions of bloody and death

When Geralt trudged through the door after spending an hour going through flower arrangements with a hysterical bride-to-be, all he wanted to do was curl up with his lark and drown in his scent. The shouts that greeted Geralt when he walked through the door however informed him that this dream was doomed to fail before it began. 

Geralt stood frozen in horror at the threshold, taking in the crime scene. 

Bottles of wine littered the counters while flour and chocolate covered every available surface. Even Roach wasn’t spared; the pitbull sneezed as a puff of flour flew upon her head. Worse of all, the two people who were arguably the most important people in his life but who Geralt, for very rational reasons, NEVER wanted to see interact, were currently standing in his kitchen. Together. 

“No Yennefer those biscuits are FLAT,” Jaskier ranted from the chair he was currently standing on. Brandishing a rolling pin like a sword he proclaimed imperiously, “We must have 12 identical biscuits. We cannot afford to have them FLAT.” Geralt watched on in bemusement as Yennefer feverishly adjusted the lumpy balls of dough scattered on the counter, eyes crazed and hair sticking on end. Never had he seen her look so disheveled, not even when she had spent three days locked up in a room attempting to master a complex spell.

In the background Geralt’s old TV was playing the Great British Bake Off and suddenly everything makes sense. Oh gods. Of course. 

Ever since Jaskier discovered that Geralt found the occasional baking sessions to be… _soothing_ he’ll say, the singer had become obsessed. Geralt has lost count of how many evenings they have spent on the couch, Jaskier braiding Geralt’s hair and providing running commentary on the contestants’ outfits, personalities, and occasionally, their baking abilities. 

Geralt would never admit it but he had grown to treasure these nights. He never thought he would experience something so...domestic. With Yen they didn’t have anything close to this. They would seek each other out when they needed some release or companionship, but that was about it. Geralt and Yennefer had too many jagged edges to court peacefully, so they ultimately gave up trying. 

He said as much the day after the whole getting arrested debacle. Jaskier had approached him, looking more vulnerable and uncertain than he had ever been, and the singer expressed his understanding if Geralt ever got bored and wanted to return to Yennefer. Gods, Geralt didn't know his heart could ache the way it did that night. Speechless, Geralt had wrapped his arms around Jaskier and gripped him tightly, tucking his nose to his neck to take in the singer's comforting scent. "I could never leave you Jaskier," he finally said fiercely. "Yennefer is like the sun. Beautiful, powerful, and something I need in my life. But if I get too close or look at her too long I will only be burned." 

Pulling away so he could look at Jaskier properly and the tattooist could witness his sincerity Geralt added, "You are like a flower. You give life and sustenance. When you bloom you show everyone your beauty and give off a sweet and comforting scent. And I am fully committed to loving and tending to you." 

When Geralt was finished with his proclamation tears were streaming down Jaskier's face and the singer was clutching Geralt's hands in a tight grip. He opened his mouth before closing it again, shaking his head wordlessly. A spike of worry shot through Geralt. Fuck, this is why he doesn't speak. He always fucks up his words. 

Before he can open his mouth to apologize and attempt to explain differently, Jaskier shoved Geralt away. Geralt didn't realize that his heart could shatter. 

Pointing a shaking finger at him Jaskier opened his mouth again before throwing his arms up helplessly. Finally, he exclaimed, "You CANNOT become the poet in this relationship because then anything I write will feel inadequate in comparison and I LIKE writing love songs about you godsdammit!" 

Geralt could only stand there, baffled and reeling at Jaskier's pronouncement. Was he mad at him or not? Crying out in frustration Jaskier grabbed Geralt's collar and pulled him down into a searing and mind-numbing kiss. Geralt greedily returned it, relief washing over him like a wave. He hadn't fucked up. 

When they finally broke away to give Jaskier time to catch his breath Geralt found himself in a bone-crushing hug. He could feel his shirt getting soaked as Jaskier continued to cry. "No one has ever said something so beautiful and heartfelt and loving to me Geralt," Jaskier had sobbed. "I don't have the words to thank you." 

After that night it was like their relationship had turned a corner. Geralt hadn't even realized it but Jaskier had been holding part of himself back, still wary of rejection. But since Geralt's admission they have been closer than before and it was better than Geralt could ever have dreamed. 

Geralt was pulled from his musings by a yell and flash of light. Jumping into action, Geralt dragged a feral Yennefer from the charred ruins of her baking attempt, flinching from the sparks still flying from her fingertips. “I think that’s enough baking for today,” Geralt rumbled. Dumping Yennefer onto the couch, Geralt turned to Jaskier, who was now kneeling on the ground, morosely cradling the remains of the biscuits. Hauling him up Geralt stated firmly, “No more baking and drinking. Especially with witches.” 

Geralt balked as he realized that tears were brimming Jaskier’s eyes. Wiping them away with the pad of his thumb Geralt frowned, “What’s wrong little lark? Did she harm you?” 

Collapsing onto Geralt’s chest Jaskier sobbed, “I just wanted to make something for you. You seemed so _interested_ in making these when we watched this episode last night!” Geralt’s heart clenched painfully at the admission. Never in his deepest and darkest dreams did Geralt imagine having someone in his life like Jaskier. All Geralt had done when watching that episode was hum but Jaskier knew him so well he caught Geralt's interest. He should be terrified that Jaskier could read him so well but all Geralt felt was an all-encompassing warmth that spread through his chest all the way to his toes and fingertips. 

Pressing a soft kiss to the singer’s forehead Geralt hummed, “Perhaps you and I can make them together when you’re more sober.” That warmth only bloomed stronger as Jaskier shot him a loopy grin in return. 

Flopping his arms around Geralt's shoulders Jaskier mumbled, “I wanted to surprise you ‘cause it’s our anniversary.” Suddenly all of the warmth sucked out of Geralt and he stiffened with panic. FUCK. Mind racing, Geralt tried to remember the date. How could he forget? He had just been getting swamped with spring wedding orders that it completing slipped his mind. 

Suddenly soft lips that tasted like wine claimed his own. Despite the stress buzzing through him, Geralt was powerless to resist returning the gesture. It was slow and lazy and soon the press of lips and teasing flick of tongue was all Geralt could think about. When Jaskier finally pulled away, Geralt was sure he returned the singer’s besotted expression with one of his own. “I know you’ve been swamped with work and there was a possibility you would forget. That’s why I wanted to treat you,” Jaskier explained with a pout. 

Sighing, Geralt dropped his head onto Jaskier’s shoulder. “You’re too good to me,” he whispered. 

“Nonsense,” Jaskier hummed, carding clumsy fingers through Geralt’s hair. Geralt closed his eyes and sank into the familiar touch, all the stress from today draining away. 

“PAUL YOUR TASTE IS UTTER SHITE!” a voice yelled at the TV. 

Perking up, Jaskier scrambled over and collapsed onto the couch and subsequently upon Yennefer. "If David doesn't win this round imma throw a bottle at the screen,” Jaskier declared, brandishing a fresh bottle of wine that somehow appeared in his hand. Sighing, Geralt trudged over to the couch so he could prevent the fool from enacting further damage to his apartment. Gods he loved this man. 

*******

Geralt was perched on a roof as usual but his heart wasn’t in it. All he could think about was how wonderful his anniversary with Jaskier was yesterday. He couldn't believe they’ve been together for two years already. Such a short period of time but Geralt knew that he wasn’t letting go of Jaskier anytime soon. And despite all of Geralt’s faults, Jaskier seemed equally as committed. Which made it that more important to think of a gift for Jaskier, late as it was. 

Geralt was distracted from his brainstorming by a scream from an apartment down the street. When nothing sounded on the police frequency Geralt cursed. Someone needed help and the police weren’t going to get there in time. Dismounting from the roof, Geralt expanded his senses until he could follow the sounds of fighting. Well that’s encouraging at least. But when Geralt arrived at the apartment complex he frowned. Nothing outside the building; monsters rarely have the intelligence to break into a place though. 

Shrugging, Geralt raced into the apartment, smashing the lock mechanism so he could enter before starting on the steps. Whatever was happening was on the second floor. Crashing through the door where the ruckus sounded from, Geralt skidded to a stop. 

Fuck, this wasn’t monsters, at least not the kind Geralt hunted. Five men wearing the Nilfgaardian gang insignia were spread out in the once pristine apartment. Now, photographs and statues were smashed to the ground and blood splattered the walls. All at once Geralt realized with dawning horror whose apartment he just entered. 

Against a wall Sergeant Calanthe was covered in blood and sprawled in front of the cowering girl Geralt met but once. The same girl whose drawing hung proudly on Geralt’s fridge. When Jaskier had first shown it to him Geralt’s knees had gone weak. He still couldn’t understand why that girl didn’t fear him, how she could just approach him like he was any other human. Geralt tried to shrug off the gift but Jaskier determinately stuck it to the fridge and Geralt never mentioned it again. If he brushes a finger against it every time he goes onto hunts that’s his business and Jaskier has the tact not to bring attention to the little ritual. 

Geralt’s blood ran cold as he finishing taking in the scene. He could distantly hear the apparent leader taunting Calanthe, speaking of revenge but soon it was just white noise as all of Geralt's thoughts screeched to a halt. In a flash, all of his limbs began moving on their own and with a ruthlessness Geralt hadn’t demonstrated since he stood between Renfri and a group of mercenaries. Like a machine, the vigilante cut down the men one by one. They didn’t have a chance to fire a shot before they all lay dead. 

Kneeling before the grandmother and granddaughter a moment later, soaked with blood, Geralt knew that he looked the monster he truly was. Calanthe’s breathing was ragged and shallow, her hand clutching a wound in her gut. So much blood. There would be no saving her. 

Eyes that had sparked with hatred every time they stared at him now only shone with desperation. “Please,” she rasped. “Look. After her. Protect. Her.” 

Coughing, Calanthe dragged herself up and grabbed a hold of Geralt’s shirt. “Prove. You are the same man. Who handed a little girl. A flower. And protected a foolish singer.” As life began to drain from her eyes, Calanthe’s grip loosened but her expression hardened with determination. “Or I. Will haunt. Your fucking arse. To the ends of the earth.” And with a final gasp, Calanthe slumped forward, lifeless. 

As Geralt caught the former sergeant, he met the terrified and grief-stricken eyes of Cirilla. Beside her lay the detective she had sat with that day at the station, his bloody hand in her lap. Dead. This girl’s whole world had just disappeared in one act of malicious cruelty. Fury and helplessness raged through Geralt like a forest fire at the injustice of it all. But that's not what this girl needed right now. 

Taking a steadying breath, Geralt gently placing the officer down, closing her eyes. Setting aside his swords, Geralt raised his hands in the gesture of peace. “I won’t hurt you,” he murmured. With a sob, Cirilla threw herself into Geralt’s arms and he caught her, eyes wide with shock. As the girl wept into his chest, heedless of the blood, Geralt’s mind went in overdrive mulling over Calanthe's words. He had a duty to fulfill a dying woman's wish. And he had been trying to figure out a gift that would surprise Jaskier. Well fuck.


	10. A Thousand Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Shalisha entered the building she took a moment to process the scene. She was coming to the top rated florist in the area so she can start planning her wedding but this was not what Shalisha was expecting. First of all, it wasn’t just a flower shop. The wide space was split neatly in two. Although flowers peppered the whole area, only have of the room was clearly dedicated to the selling of the products. The other half was what looked like a tattoo studio, individual workroom rooms and artwork peppered all along the wall. The combined aesthetic shouldn’t work but somehow it did?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you I made panic or sad last chapter, my apologies! I hope this epilogue makes up for it. This chapter will feature a time jump and an outside POV so as to the mess I dropped in Geralt’s lap, here’s the brief overview of what happens:  
> The gruff florist Geralt and his cheerful fiance (Geralt’s other anniversary gift to Jaskier) make excellent adoption candidates for Cirilla. And ballistics and crime scene analysis along with Yennefer’s terrifying lawyer skills help clear Geralt’s name of any suspicion. So *waves hands* everything is peachy because of fanfic magic! Onward my readers!

When Shalisha entered the building she took a moment to process the scene. She was coming to the top rated florist in the area so she can start planning her wedding but this was not what Shalisha was expecting. First of all, it wasn’t just a flower shop. The wide space was split neatly in two.

Although flowers peppered the whole area, only half of the room was clearly dedicated to the selling of the products. The other half was what looked like a tattoo studio, individual workroom rooms and artwork peppered all along the wall. The combined aesthetic shouldn’t work but somehow it did? 

“Can I help you?” A woman with buzzed blue hair and tattoos snaking along her bared arms asked. Approaching the long receptionist desk Shalisha hesitated. Raising an eyebrow the woman leaned her arms on the desk. “Flowers or a tattoo?” 

Blinking, Shalisha nervously played with her engagement ring. “Sorry?”

Smiling patiently the woman repeated herself. “You here for flowers or a tattoo?” Oh, of course. This was some kind of combined business. Must make being a receptionist tricky. 

“Flowers,” Shalisha answered with a hesitant smile. 

Nodding the woman glanced at her computer. “Shalisha?” At her confirmation the woman held up a finger. “Geralt! Your 1:00 is here!” When no one appeared the receptionist sighed and turned to the other side of the space. “Jaskier, please drag your husband away from whatever he’s gotten himself into this time,” she requested with a huff. By the tone of her voice it was clear this scenario wasn't a rare occurrence. 

Emerging from one of the artist studios was a lean man wearing a bright yellow button down and ripped black jeans. Flicking his brown hair out of his eyes Jaskier sighed before stalking across the space to a room in the back. Throwing open the door he revealed a hulking man with long silver hair wearing a shirt that looked like it was about to tear around his muscles. His physique would have properly intimidated Shalisha if she didn’t spot what was occupying his time. 

A young girl no more than 10 was propped on his knee and the man wore a fiercely determined expression as he continued to attempt a complex braid of her blonde hair. Whatever the tattooist ducked to whisper in the man’s ear made him scowl, a look that was quickly wiped away by a soft peck on his cheek. Swapping places, the tattooist picked up where the man left off while he lumbered toward Shalisha, a pitbull following in his wake. 

Thrusting out a hand the man said gruffly, “Geralt.” Reaching to shake and faintly noting how much her hand dwarfed his, Shalisha smiled and introduced herself. “So. Wedding.” Shalisha could tell this was a man of few words. That makes her life a bit harder. Why, oh why, did she offer to be in charge of flowers? Shalisha should have worked on seating arrangements. That didn’t involve any socializing and she gets to place people together who annoy her. 

As Shalisha attempted to shove down her remaining nerves, the pitbull fell to the floor and rolled onto its back. Laughing lightly at the sight, Shalisha began to relax a bit more. “Wanna pet her while we talk?” Geralt asked awkwardly. 

A relieved grin spread across Shalisha’s face. “I would like that,” she answered brightly. 

*******

Geralt and Shalisha were deep in debate about which flower best matched her fiance’s eyes. Shalisha claimed that they were blue like a river but Geralt insisted they were the color of the sky. They were at an impasse, neither willing to cede to the other when a sigh sounded beside them. As they both turned, Shalisha and Geralt were faced with matching unimpressed looks. “Dad what have we said about arguing with the customers?” the little girl asked, hands on her hips. 

“Yes Geralt, please enlighten us,” the tattooist piped up with a bite of his lip and a fond glance at the girl. 

Sighing Geralt said through gritted teeth, “Fine. We’ll go with your choice. Just don’t complain if your wedding is ruined because of it.” Shalisha just rolled her eyes in response. It took less than 5 minutes of interaction for Shalisha to realize how harmless Geralt was. His only threat was his biting wit but Shalisha had lots of ammo in that department. 

Eyes brightening, the girl plopped onto Geralt’s lap and turned to Shalisha eagerly. “A wedding?! Who are you marrying? How did you meet?” With a dreamy smile, Shalisha began describing her future wife, Keisha, to her enraptured audience and how she had saved Shalisha when she slipped through some ice while skating. While Geralt attempted to look bored, Shalisha couldn’t help but notice how his gaze would flick to Jaskier and a small smile would twitch at his lips every time Shalisha brought up another one of Keisha’s attributes. Jaskier in the meantime whipped out a chair and notebook from nowhere and had begun writing furiously the moment that Shalisha has begun sharing. 

When Shalisha was finally done telling her story, Jaskier breathed out a lovesick sigh. “Oh this song is gonna be terribly _romantic!”_ he exclaimed. 

Frowning in confusion Shalisha pointed out, “I thought you were a tattoo artist." 

Releasing a laugh Jaskier leaned forward, allowing his unbuttoned shirt to reveal a wolf howling over his heart with two swords crossed behind it. “Oh, I am dear. I’m just multifaceted, what can I say?” he smirked with a wink. 

Rolling his eyes Geralt cuffed him on the back of his head. “And what have we said about flirting with customers, Jaskier?” Geralt asked with an amused gleam in his eye. 

Gasping with affront Jaskier sputtered, “What-I never! H-how _dare_ you imply I would flirt with a customer! She can clearly see I’m a taken man!” At this he brandished a hand that had a ring with an engraving of a flower on it as proof. 

Smiling, Geralt clutched the hand and pressed a kiss over the ring. “And don’t you forget it,” he murmured softly, heat in his gaze. 

Shalisha shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Whoa, sexual tension alert-no thank you. “You are so gross,” the girl mumbled as she began wiggling out of Geralt’s lap. 

And just like that the spell was broken and the two horny teenagers transformed back into fathers/business owners. “And where do you think you’re going little cub?” Geralt asked, wrapping his arms around her. 

Yelping, the girl started squirming wildly. “Papa help! I’m trapped!” she squealed. 

Raising his hands, Jaskier began backing away. “I am sorry Ciri but once you have been captured by that man there is no way to escape,” he stated solemnly. With a wicked grin, Jaskier saluted her before skipping away, humming a tune under his breath. After a moment Ciri gave up on escaping and instead squirmed until she was comfortable before curling up in her father’s lap with a happy sigh. 

“You seem to have quite the life,” Shalisha remarked with a wave of her hand, trying to encompass the combined shop model, the husband, the daughter.

Looking past Shalisha to where Jaskier was undoubtedly working, Geralt smiled softly. “Never thought I’d have it,” he rumbled. Squeezing Ciri tightly he added fiercely, “Never letting go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's DONE. WHOO. This is the longest thing I've written yet so it feels pretty good to be finished. Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments and bookmarked this while I continued writing it. You gave me the motivation to keep working on it and I'm so grateful to you!


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